


When the Dragons dance

by Honorable_Fool



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, Betrayal, Corruption, Dark Fantasy, Dragons, F/M, Incest, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, King Rhaegar, M/M, Magic, POV, War, epic fantasy, undead army
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2019-07-08 13:36:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15931520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honorable_Fool/pseuds/Honorable_Fool
Summary: When you play the Game of Throne, you win or you die.The characters change, but the game is still the sameBackstabbing, cheater and asslicker are still struggling to get powerWhile beyond the Wall, An army of undead is marching on the real of men





	1. The Prince that was Promised

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own ASOIAF, my buddy Georgie does.

**AEMON**

 

 

 

Aemon Targaryen remembered clearly the moment he became aware of exactly what he was.

 

It was raining that day. Aemon had only just turned four, and the rain was so heavy he had trouble opening his eyes under its weight. Standing beside him, his father offered no word of sympathy or support. And the boy himself didn't wish for any.

 

"Remember, this is a battlefield," His father's powerful words pushed through the roar of the rain.

 

Battlefield... 

 

A word and a sight that was not for a four-year-old boy to fix in his memory. To say less of the scene that lay before his eyes at the moment, nothing really fitting for a child's eyes. Mountains of dead bodies as far as the eyes could see, and not a single one at peace. The corpse had stiffened, with face twisted in anguish. 

 

"In a few years, you'll be a warrior too. This rebellion might end, but something worse is coming for all of us. This is the world you will step into." 

 

His father's iron voice filling his ears, Aemon stood still and endured. If he relaxed as much as a finger, he was afraid that the tears would come spilling out. It wasn't that he was scared. It wasn't that he was sad. An emotion he couldn't decipher nor put into words surged within him. He didn't understand why, but he felt such a tightness in his belly, he could hardly stand it.

 

Soaking wet in the rain. He wondered if his father would notice if he cried. Still, Aemon didn't want to. He felt that if he cried here he might lose something critical to his life as a prince. So he desperately tightened his control over his body, but the tears came naturally spilling out. People with the Targaryen sigil emblazoned on their armors, warriors from other houses. The countless dead bodies blanketing the surface of the rock that constituted the Iron Islands had no connection to the Seven Kingdoms borders, sporting the golden kraken of House Greyjoy. All of them were unable to free themselves of their own deaths as they cried, struggled, mourned. Those agony-filled faces were all the same, no matter which house the men were from.

 

Not one among them had wished for death. And yet they were here suffering and dying. Why? Because of the rebellion.

 

"Father,"  Aemon said. And then, for the first time, he realized he was shaking. It wasn't a fear of the corpses. Rage made him shake. "Why did you bring me here..."

 

His father was silent for a while, and then he began to respond, as if choosing his words carefully. "You are a clever lad."

 

His gaze still fixed toward the corpses, Aemon waited for his father to continue. He felt warmth on top of his head. The calloused palm of his father's hand.

 

"I wanted to make sure you saw this reality."

 

Aemon frowned, and frantically searched his mind for the meaning of the word "reality." He was only four, he didn't understand the difference between reality and fiction. Even so, he grasped the meaning behind his father's words.

 

"This is the world I will live in..."

 

"That's right, Aemon. Humans are creatures that fight. Never forget what you've seen here today." His father said with a kind voice.

 

His father tone led Aemon to rub his eyes, He engraved the hellscape before him into his mind so that he would never forget it. A warmth unlike everything he'd known wriggled and squirmed within his mind. The sensation like a wild wave of power flowing toward his retina was so terrifying, he unconsciously closed his eyes. When he did the wave slowly disappeared into the center of his head. His heart pounded madly, and his breathing was ragged. He took a deep breath, and opened his eyes. In front of him, the hellish world was unchanged.

 

"What is it?" His father asked, intrigued by his son's reaction 

 

He didn't respond to his father question, but simply stared hard at the sight before him. This hell might have been the world in which he has to live, but Aemon had no intention of sitting back and simply accept it. He was going to change it. It was a mistake to try and resolve things by fighting, for any reasons. This world had to change, this belief would become the foundation of the man he was going be.

 

Aemon would never forget that day.

 

* * *

 

 

The end of this rebellion that crushed Balon Greyjoy's rebellion came several weeks after Aemon became aware of the meaning of his own existence. Later called Greyjoy Rebellion, the conflict came to an end after Balond Greyjoy surrendered when his castle in Pyke was attacked by King Rhaegar and Lord Eddard Stark. The nearby Botley castle castle was destroyed, as was the town of Lordsport beneath it, before the main attack on the castle of Pyke was launched. Rhaegar's forces assaulted the southern wall with siege engines, killing Maron Greyjoy the second of Balon's three sons during the breach. The fighting in castle was fierce, but eventually the castle was taken and Balon was brought before Rhaegar in chains, bent the knee and was force to swear fealty once more to the Iron Throne.

 

Although only one of Balon Greyjoy's son survived, making his sole heir, he was given into care of Lord Stark as hostage to ensure Balon's good behaviors. The rebellion resulted in the castle of Pyke being severely damaged and partially rebuilt. The Faith of the Seven suffered at the hands of fanatics who worshiped the Drowned God, Baelor Blacktyde, new Lord of Blacktyde was a child when his father died during the rebellion and as a result was taken away to Oldtown as a hostage following the end of the rebellion. With the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion, the Seven Kingdoms inched toward peace after the tumult of the war.

 

The courtyard rang to the song of swords. 

 

Under black wool, boiled leather and heavy mail, sweat rolled slowly down Aemon's forehead as he pressed the attack. Aegon stumbled backward, but quickly regained his balance. Aegon tried a sideswing, Aemon swept aside his blade and slammed a mailed forearm into his chest. Aegon lost his footing, and sat hard on the floor.

 

Ser Barristan looked at him with wide eyes. "Good," He smiled. "You did well, both of you." 

 

Aemon took off his helm as his brother rose to his feet. The light breeze felt good on his face. He looked at the sky, drew a deep breath and allowed himself a moment to savor the victory. His brother was looking at him a smile, _Aegon was always smiling, he had this innocence about him._ His brother was eight, and he was already growing to be a handsome man. He looked like their father, with his purple eyes and silver-gold hair. They were different as winter and summer, where Aemon was guarded, Aegon was bright.

 

Ser Barristan strode toward him, white cloak flying faintly as he moved. He was a dutiful man of fifty three years, strong and graceful, with blue eyes and white hair. "Are you legs starting to hurt, my prince?" He asked softly.

 

Aemon was tired, but it wasn't important. What was important was daily training. That steadily moving forward one step at a time was important, it was what Aemon felt. He slid the helm back on his head. "No," He replied.

 

"Ser Oswell looked at the sweat that trickled down his forehead. "The truth now," He commanded.   

 

"I'm tired," Aemon admitted. His hand ached from the weight of the blunt longsword, and he was starting to feel his bruises now that the fight was done.

 

"Aye, we already noticed by the load of sweat on your forehead, little prince." Ser Oswell told him. 

 

Aemon knew better than to the reply. He had beaten his brother twice today, yet he felt that it gained him nothing. Ser Barristan and Ser Oswell served them first and, of course would stop the sparring if their lives were at risk. 

 

"This will be all," Ser Barristan told them. Looking at the disappointment etched on Aemon "Have no fear, my prince, you're improving swiftly. In a few year time, you'll become one of the finest swords in the Seven Kingdoms."

 

Aemon followed behind the servant back to the armory, walking silently.He often walked alone. Inside Aemon hung sword and scabbard from a hook in the stone wall, ignoring the servant that was begging him to let him do the cleaning. Methodically, he began to strip off his mail and helm. the tiredness came on him suddenly, as he donned a leather doublet that he'd have to wear before taking a bath. 

 

Afterward, he sought his bed, and buried his face in the thick white pillow.

 

 

 

**ELIA**

 

 

 

**Seven years later..**

 

 

 

Elia had never liked King's Landing.

 

She had been born a Martell, at Sunspear far to the south, capital of Dorne. the closest thing to a city there was Shadow city, queer and dusty, where mud-brick shop and windowless hovels can be found. Stables, inns and pillow houses are found west of those, with walls of their own. More hovels had been built against those walls, which led the city becoming a labyrinths of narrow alleys, homes and bazaars. 

 

King's Landing was a different kind of city. It was sprawling across several miles and defended by tall walls and had the highest populations in the Seven Kingdoms. King's Landing reeked of sour wine, bread baking, rotting fish, smoke and sweat and horse piss. This was a place of unique stink, and the people who lived here were not bothered by it.

 

The Red Keep was mad of pale red stone, and overlooked the mouth of Blackwater Rush, massive curtain walls surround the castle, with nests and crenelations for archers. Thick stone parapets, some four feet high, protect the outer edge of the wall ramparts, where the heads of traitors were traditionally placed on iron spikes between the crenels at the gatehouse. The castle was bigger than Sunspear.

 

Elia found her husband in Great Hall, sitting on the Iron Throne. Two Kingsguards were standing beside the throne,  _Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Gerold Hightower._ The cavernous hall whit high, narrow windows and adorned with Skull of the Targaryen dragons seemed to follow as she passed them. "Rhaegar," She called softly.

 

He lifted his head to look at her. "Elia," He said. His voice was soft and formal. "Where are the children?"

 

She smiled, he would always think about the children first. "Aegon is in Rhaenys chamber reading, and Aemon took a bath and went to bed."

 

"Is he ill?" Rhaegar asked.

 

"No," she replied. "The boys were practicing all day."

 

Rhaegar frowned. "They must learn to survive. They won't be boys forever." 

 

"Yes," Elia agreed. Thinking about the prophecy gave her chill, as it always did. Rhaegar was firm believer that Aegon was The Prince that was promised. A prophesied savior that would come to deliver the world from darkness. _There must be one more, the dragon has three heads._ And here they were with three heads, two were born from her and the other one from another woman.  _Lyanna Stark._ Rhaegar knew that another birth could kill her, so he found someone else to provide the third. But she knew that he wasn't only for that. She was there in Harrenhal, she saw how Rhaegar looked at the young lady.  _He loved her_. She was not angry, their marriage was not for love but they respected and cared for each other. 

 

"I heard from Lord Stark that the strength of the Night's Watch's is down below a thousands," Rhaegar said grimly. "It's not only desertions. They're losing men on ranging as well."

 

"Is it the wildlings?" Ser Gerold asked.

 

"Or something else," Rhaegar rose from the throne, slowly climbing down the steps. "And it will only grow worse. The day may come when I have to call my banners and ride north to deal with this, but it's too soon for Aegon."

 

"Call the banners?" she asked. "It could be wildlings for all that we know."

 

Rhaegar saw the dread on her face. "Aegon is too young and is not ready yet."

 

"I do not know what dark thing is beyond the Wall." She glanced behind him at the Iron throne, the monstosity of spikes and jagged edges and twisted metal.

 

His smile was gentle. "Nothing that can't be defeated by The Prince That Was Promised."

 

"Or perhaps it needs more than one hero," Elia said gently.

 

He looked at her with a gentle smile, and fixed the crown on top of his head. "You did not come here to listen to me talk about prophecy. What is it, my queen?" 

 

Elia took her husband's hand. "There was a grievous news today, my king," She looked at him softly. "I am so sorry, Richard Lonmooth is dead."

 

His eyes found hers, and she could see how hard it took him. Ser Richard Lonmooth was a close personal friend and former squire Rhaegar, alongside Ser Myles Mooton and received his knighthood from Rhaegar. When Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark eloped, and that Robert Baratheon rebelled and called for his banners, Ser Richard refused the call and fought alongside Rhaegar at the Trident.

 

"Richard..." he said. "Is this news certain?"

 

"It was the Queen mother's seal, and the letter is in Rhaella's own hand. She said Ser Richard was taken quickly. Even Maester Cressen was helpless, but he brought milk of the poppy, so Richard did not linger in pain."

 

"At least he had some small mercy, I suppose," He said, grief evident on his beautiful face. 

 

"There was another raven," Elia said. "My brother is holding a tourney to celebrate the fifteenth name day of Aegon."

 

Rhaegar nodded. "We should go," As he said that, a smile broke across her face. "Ser Arthur, I think a hundred knights would be enough?" He looked at his knight with an eyebrow raised.

 

The Sword of the Morning smiled, and replied. "Aye, your grace. It'll be enough." 

 

"We should send word to your brother and sister at Dragonstone." She said.

 

"Yes, of course," he agreed. "Daenerys will like the water gardens. I shall tell Pycelle to send his swiftest bird." He asked. "How many would come? did the message say?"

 

"The Lannister are also coming." she told him.

 

Rhaegar grimaced at that. There was small love between him and Tywin Lannister, Elia knew. The Lannister of Casterly Rock had come late to Rhaegar cause and he had never forgiven them. "Well, at least they're not going to be late this time."

 

"It will be good to see the children. The youngest was still sucking at his mother's breast the last time I saw them. It been a long time, I am sure Oberyn will be there." She smiled happily.  _Home._ She smiled at the thought.

 

 

 

 

 

**DAENERYS**

 

 

 

 

 

Her mother held the gown up for her inspection. "Isn't it a beauty?"

 

Dany touched it. The silk was so smooth that it seemed to run through her finger like water. She didn't remember wearing anything more soft. She smiled. "Is it really mine?"

 

"A gift from your niece, princess Raenys," Rhaella said smiling. Her mother always spoke with this soft tone, the tone of a kind queen. "The color will bring out the violet color in your eyes. Perhaps some handsome knight will crown you the queen of love and beauty."  

 

 _Queen of love and beauty_ , Dany thought. She had never seen a tourney in her entire life.  "Why would Rhaegar want us to be present?" She asked. "What does he want from us?" For all her life, they had lived in Dragonstone, never moving from the island. Dany was thirteen, old enough to know that her brother wanted something from them. 

 

"Rhaegar is kind," Rhaella said. She in her fifties but her hair was still silver-blonde and she was still beautiful. "Rhaegar know that you'll be happy to visit another place."

 

Dany said nothing. Rhaegar was her brother and her king. He was well loved throughout the seven kingdoms, being both beautiful and charming as well as keenly intelligent. He returned the love of the smallfolk, and became known for his charities. While people said that Rhaegar took after Queen Rhaella, Her other brother Viserys was compared to the their father, the Mad King. Dany listened to the talks in the castle, and she heard these things. When Viserys knew about the talks, he sentenced all the servant to be whipped ignoring the plea of their mother, but she knew better than to question her brother. His anger was a terrible thing when roused, calling it 'waking the dragon'.

 

Her mother hung the gown beside the bed. "We'll leave in the first light. I'll send servant to bathe you, be sure to wash off the stink of the stables. I'm sure those handsome boy wouldn't crown a queen of love and beauty that smell like she just came home from a hunt." She caressed her cheeks softly. "You will be the prettiest girl at the tourney, I'm sure of it."

 

When she was gone, Dany went to her window and looked wistfully at the waters of the bay. The dragonlords loved little more than twisting stone into strange, fanciful, and ornate shapes, she read, and as such used their magic to shape the castle to look like multiple dragons. Dany could hear the waves hitting against the shore with great strength even when it was sunny. She wished she could be there alone, riding on a horse and hunting, with no past and no future and no feast or tourney to attend.

 

She had been born on Dragonstone nine month after their flight, while a ragging summer storm threatened to rip the island fastness apart. Her mother had almost died giving birth to her, and Viserys had never forgiven her. She didn't remember King's Landing that much either. Rhaegar had sent them away for their protection and with them two hundred knights with one of his most trusted friend, Ser Richard Lonmouth.

 

Ser Richard had died a fortnight ago, she remembered him. His black iron helm, and his bright yellow cloak. The cloak was was stained with grass. The servants were all afraid of him, but he was kind to Daenerys. He called her 'Little Princess' and sometime 'My little Dany', and his hands were calloused but warm. The day before he died, he never left his bed. The smell of sickness clung to him day and night and as such Daenerys was forbidden to see him. After Ser Richard had died, maester Cressen said that he did everything in his power but it was pointless. Dany had cried when they burned his body. 

 

Three moons after, Rhaegar had sent word to them and here they were now packing to attend to the tourney made in honor of her nephew, prince Aegon. Viserys was mocking Aegon, calling him 'unfit to rule' and 'the mummer's dragon' since his mother was dornish and not of Valyrian blood. He had said that he should be the rightful heir of the Iron Throne, since he had the pure blood of Valyria. 

 

"The mummer's dragon will only bring shame to our house," He said one day to her. "The Seven Kingdoms should rightfully be mine. One day I'll have it all." Viserys lived for that day. Daenerys wanted to warn her mother but Viserys told her that if she talked about it, she would wake the dragon and it would be bad for her.

 

Before dusk, the servant helped her from the water and toweled her dry. A girl brushed her hair until it shone like moonlight, while the older woman sprinkled her with Pentos perfume and dressed her in the gown that her niece send to her, a deep plum silk to bring out the violet in her eyes. The girl gilded sandals on her feet, while the old woman fixed a tiara on her hair.  

  
"Now you look like a real beauty," Her mother said breathlessly when they were done. Dany glanced at her image in the golden glass, _A beauty._

 

"She's too skinny," Viserys said, when they arrived in front of the boat. His silver hair had been pulled back tightly behind his head and fastened with a dragonbone brooch. It was a hard look that emphasized the soft line of his face. He rested is hand on the hilt of his sword, and said. "Mother, why are we forced to take her?" 

 

"She his your blood. She is a princess and your sister. I will not hear anymore of your whining, Viserys," Rhaella told him, not afraid of his anger. "Rhaegar want to see her, she is blood of old Valyria and sister to the king. You will respect her." When he released her hand, Daenerys found herself trembling.  

 

"I suppose.." Her brother replied doubtfully. "But be careful mother, I don't take too kindly receiving orders. Even if it's from the King of the Seven Kingdoms."

 

"Best not to said this in front of your brother," Rhaella said.

 

Anger flashed in his lilac eyes. "Do you take me for a fool?"

 

Her mother smiled softly. "Of course not, you're my son and a prince. But I will not stand while you insult your brother and king in front of me." She turned away, and entered the boat after her servants and guards.

 

Daenerys smiled, and followed after her mother quickly.


	2. Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Targaryen arrives at Sunspear, they're welcomed by the Martell warmly.  
> Still, one of them remains a wolf, and they're reminded of the King's betrayal.  
> Especially since the boy look exactly like the cause of this betrayal.

**RHAEGAR**

 

 

 

 

The King's party poured through the gates of the castle in a river of black and silver and polished steel, one hundred strong, a pride of knights and of sworn swords. Over their heads a dozen black banners whipped back and forth in the light dornish wind, emblazoned with the red three-headed dragon of Targaryen.

 

Rhaegar knew many of his sworn swords, there rode beside him Ser Arthur Dayne carrying on his back the greatsword called Dawn, and there Ser Oswell Whent with white helmet emblazoned with a black bat with its wings spread. His two sons also rode beside him, and his wife and daughter were on the wheelhouse. They were greeted by the sight of Oberyn Martell with his 'black viper' eyes. 

 

Yet the frail man sitting on a wheeled chair in front of him flanked by two guards and particularly one of them wielding a longaxe that has a shaft six feet long, seemed almost a stranger to Rhaegar... until he saw the pensive and cautious expression on his face. Elia entered on foot the with Rhaenys. The wheelhouse in which they had ridden was to wide to pass through the gate. Oberyn vaulted off the place where he stood with a loud laughter, and crushed Elia in a bone-crunching hug. 

 

"Elia! It is good to see that beautiful face of yours," Oberyn looked her over top to bottom, and laughed. "You have not changed at all, dear sister."

 

Yet Elia was Oberyn's queen, and not just a sister anymore, so she said playfully. "Dear brother, I see you're still as wild as a viper. Shouldn't you kneel before your queen?" 

 

They both laughed, and Elia embraced her little brother warmly. By then the others were dismounting as well, and ostlers were coming their mounts. Prince Doran bowed his head, while Oberyn embraced Rhaenys like a long-lost niece. Then the boys had been brought forward, introduced, and approved for Aegon by both sides but slightly cold for Aemon.

 

No sooner than the formalities of greeting had been completed that the Rhaegar had said to his host, "Is my sister and brother already here? I'd like to greet them."

 

Prince Doran called for a servant and commanded him to bring the royal that came earlier. Elia had begun to sit. They had been riding since dawn, and everyone was tired and hot, surely they should refresh themselves first.  

 

"I was starting to think we would never reach Sunspear," Aegon complained as he settled beside his father. "In the south, the way they talk about being hot, I forget that Dorne is as hot as the other Seven Kingdoms combined."

 

"I trust you enjoyed your journey, Your Grace?" 

 

Rhaegar smiled slightly. "Mountains and deserts, It is a long time since I've seen such a vast emptiness."

 

"Likely Dorne is too harsh for you, as it would be for northman" Oberyn replied, snorting. He could feel the anger coming from the man. "Kings and Starks are a rare sight in Dorne."

 

Rhaegar smiled. "Yet here I am. And a Stark in addition, the gods must have a clear a great sense of humor."

 

"Oh? isn't that right?" Oberyn smirked. "I hope the gods has also a great sense of forgiveness for those who break their vows." He laughed. "It would be quite terrible that our beloved king be punished for that."

 

"The gods are merciful," Rhaegar admitted. "I hope they'll see when winter will come for us."

 

Oberyn had always been fierce. He had a fearsome and notorious reputation. Elia had described him as unpredictable, a witty man with a sharp tonge, 'no man dared tread on him'. He had been inseparable with Elia as children and since Rhaegar dishonored her with Lyanna, he despised him. 

 

"Your Grace." Doran said respectfully. Rhaegar swept his glance form Oberyn to Doran. His dark indigo eyes settling on the man sitting on a wheeled chair. "Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys are waiting for you."

 

The brown haired servant bowed his head, and signaled him to follow. He followed behind the man wordlessly, their footsteps rang off the stones and echoed on the courtyard as they walked under the eyes of the lords and knights. They bowed and watched them pass as they finally arrived in front of where was sitting his mother and siblings. Watching him, his mother smiled warmly and rose to greet him. 

 

"Rhaegar, I missed you." Rhaella embraced him warmly, smiling softly.

 

"Aye mother, it's been too long," Rhaegar smiled and let the warmth of his mother spread trough his body. "I hope the seas weren't too rough."

 

"The winds were kind, Your Grace," His mother nodded.

 

"Good," He turned toward his sister. "You've grown to be a beauty, dear sister," His sister nodded silently, knelt, and bowed her head.

 

Daenerys had been a babe sucking her mother's breast the last time he saw her. She was the only daughter his father conceived. _If she was born sooner, father would have married her to me._  

 

"Damnit Rhaegar! How long were you planning to banish us to that filthy island?" Viserys spat bitterly. His voice was filled with anger. 

 

"I didn't banish you, Viserys. I sent you there for your protection." Rhaegar said with an iron tone. "Isn't Dragonstone to your liking?"

 

"To my liking?" Viserys said bitterly. "I'm a prince! Why should I live in this wretched island instead of the Red Keep?"

 

Rhaegar ignored his whining, and instead looked at his mother with a serious expression. "Tell me about Richard."

 

Rhaella shook her head. "I have never seen a man sicken so quickly. We've thrown a feast for Viserys name day. If you had seen Ser Richard then, you would had sworn he would have lived forever. Five moons later he was dead. The sickness was like a fire, it burned right through him," His mother said softly. "I know you loved the man, he was a close friend to you."

 

"Aye, he was," Rhaegar said. His voice with remembered grief. "Enough of this, mother I heard Claw Isle was raided by Ironborn. How is lord Hadrian?" 

 

"They drove back the ironborn off the island but they lost men," Rhaella replied.   

 

Rhaegar groaned in frustration. Those Ironborn were always raiding and pillaging, taking something that better man built calling it the 'iron price'. They were bitter angry people that loved to kill and rape. He had to call his banners because of Balon Greyjoy's rebellion and crushed him, he ensured that the man would never rebel again by giving his son to be a hostage of Lord Stark. Still they continued their attacks and pillaging on the Seven Kingdoms.

 

"I sent word to Lord Monford Velaryon," Rhaegar answered. "They sent three ships full of food and supplies."

 

"Those beast of Ironborn should be dealt more ruthlessly." Viserys threw back his head and laughed. "If I was King, I would call the banners and slaughter every last one of them on their filthy island."

 

Rhaegar looked at his brother with his brow furrowed, and replied. "It's a pity then. Since you're not king, we will not do it your way." 

 

Finally the laughter stopped. Viserys glared at Rhaegar, his eyes looking like a snake. "Perhaps that is why the Ironborn aren't stopping their attacks;" He spat angrily. "Because I'm not king and we do it your way."

 

"Perhaps.." Rhaegar face grew hard. "But I am still your king, and you are my subject," He commanded, in a powerful voice. "Remember your place, little brother."

 

Viserys groaned with a sour face, and muttered. "And for how long, dear brother.." Before walking past him, a goblet of wine in his hand.

 

Ser Arthur gripped the hilt of his sword, and looked at Rhaegar with serious face but Rhaegar shook his head and looked at the retreating back of his little brother. When he looked in the eyes of his brother, he saw something he wished he hadn't see. Not something, rather someone.. _Father,_ Rhaegar thought with a frown. 

 

"Come Rhaegar, let me greet my grandchildren," His mother said softly, but her eyes sported a look of understanding. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**AEMON**

 

 

 

 

 

 

He settled back in his place on the high seat among his siblings and the Martell's and drank. The sweet, fruity taste of summerwine filled his mouth and brought a flush on his face. 

 

The Great Hall of Sunspear was hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of dornish wine and roasted meat. Its sable stone walls were draped with banners. Black, red, gold, orange: The three-headed dragon of Targaryen, Martell's red sun pierced by a golden spear. A singer from the free cities was playing the high harp and singing a ballad, and his deep voice could be heard down at the end of the hall.

 

Aemon had trained nonstop since the day his father had taken him to the battlefield. His sole objective was to hone further his skills so that he could be a warrior among warrior. Why a warrior among warrior? To rid the world of fighting, of course. Aemon simply refused to accept his father's conception as a warrior as someone who lived in the midst of killing.

 

Were the art of fighting and swords only for fighting? Aemon was sure they were not.

 

If you had the greater strength, you could step in between people fighting to stop them. If you were a warrior more powerful than the ones at war, if no warrior however skilled stood a chance against you, then everyone would listen to and obey your commands.

 

Aemon wanted to be that kind of warrior. He believed that if he was more powerful, more capable than anyone else, he would be able to stop even enormous fights like the last Greyjoy Rebellion. He had a goal, so his devotions were not difficult.    

 

Aemon wasn't angry with how he was treated here. There was a fair distance between him and the other Martell member, and even if sometime he could feel a cold stare coming from them it didn't bothered him. He thought Dorne was good, quiet place. However they weren't thrilled with the idea of hosting a child that was born from another woman and that ashamed their sister.

 

Discrimination.

 

False accusation. 

 

Aemon heard only reactionary words from the dornish lords that sat on the bench among the other knights and squire. He was well aware of the reason the dornish didn't think him coming in their realm was a happy occasion.

 

His mother was the little sparks that set the Seven Kingdoms in fire fifteen years ago, and as a result Elia Martell was left a frail cuckold and was forever dishonored by his father. Aemon was not surprised at all that the Martell and the others were outraged. But once his father had decided to bring him with him, it had to be the end of it because he was the king. Queen Elia, Aegon and Rhaenys reunited with their family so the healthier choice was to think instead about trying to not hurt the Martell's pride and ego.

 

"I have something I wanted to tell to both of you," His father said solemnly. Aemon saw an ominous shadow in his father's voice, heavier than usual. "I think The Others are on the march."

 

"Father, you cannot be seriously thinking about raising the banners for grumkins?" Aegon said grinning. "Whatever it is, it must be just wildlings. Leave it to the Night's Watch or Lord Stark for that matter."

 

"Aegon," Rhaegar commanded with an iron tone. "You are the one who was sent to bring spring and stop the Long Night."

 

Aegon stood up. "More's the pity," He grabbed his goblet. "Because I believe that they're not on the march, and that it is only wildlings trying to get past the Wall in order to kill and rape and raid."

 

"I'll go, father," Aemon said carefully. "I will go beyond the Wall to see if the Army of the dead is marching on us." He pushed himself to his feet.

 

Aegon trembled. "You cannot be serious about this, little brother." He put a hand on Aemon's shoulder. "Come, you don't have to go into that frozen wasteland. We'll send someone, someone who's not important like you."

 

"Don't worry, Aegon. I will come back alive, I still have to rid this world of fighting." Aemon called out to his older brother. "And if what father said is true about what is out there, we can't just stand doing nothing. An army of undead killing everything on their path would provoke a great war, and if I have to get beyond the wall to prevent that, even if it means certain death. I'll do it. A sacrifice for the greater of good is the most honorable there is." He whirled around, and walked out quietly.

 

The yard was quiet and empty. He looked in deep thought as walked there alone, the castle was dark and deserted. The sounds of music and song spilled through the open window behind him. It was the last thing Aemon wanted to hear. He thought about his brother trying to send someone else in his stead, _A warm_ selfishness, he thought smiling but this selfishness wasn't a quality. Sometime it had to be suppressed for the good of the realm. _What would be the fate of one person compared to a millions?_

 

He adores me unconditionally.

 

And as his brother, Aemon had to protect Aegon unconditionally.

 

"Prince Aemon," A voice called out to him. Aemon turned. 

 

Ser Jaime Lannister was standing in front of him, his hair as bright as beaten gold. "What's the matter boy? I thought you would be pleased to be with your family." Jaime said with a smirk.

 

 _Kingslayer,_ That is how they called him. A man without honor who turn his sword on the man he swore to protect with his life. Yet he killed the Mad King by shoving his sword on his back. One time, Aemon heard Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur talk about the man that dishonored their sacred vows. Yet he heard stories about King Aerys II. Stories about his madness, and his particular love for fire. He was cruel, and every unexplained event or act of minor defiance were punished sadistically. _Why would they blame him for killing a madman?_

 

They blamed him because he broke his vows, yet what if the vow were against the safety of people? What if the King you swore to protect started to kill innocent men? What if killing that king was for the greater of good? All those questions swarmed in his mind. 

 

"Ser Jaime, why did you kill the Mad King?" Aemon asked bluntly.

 

For a quick moment, Aemon could swore he saw sadness crossing his feature but then it left as quick as it came. And Jaime started to laugh, his face pulling a mask of an arrogant and amoral person. "Tell me boy, are you drunk or stupid?" He said with a arrogant smirk. 

 

Aemon hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Yes, I was being foolish for asking," He stared up at the tall man, his disappointment clearly on his face. "It doesn't matter.. The people in the Seven Kingdoms focus on the trivial, and lose sight of what is more important. Honor is but nothing more than a pipe dream to make people feel correct. There are time when people must make painful choice."

 

"There was no meaning behind me killing the Mad King," Jaime said stiffly.

 

Aemon studied his face. "You should stop punishing yourself. You sacrificed your name and honor for the greater of good, Ser Jaime."

 

"Have I?" Jaime replied, a arrogant smirk on his face. "My my, Prince Aemon you're beginning to scare me with your words. I wouldn't want you to become a kingslayer; Yet it would be refreshing to have someone else to mock." 

 

"I hope you'll see it one day." Aemon said. "That you are more honorable in your own way that all the knights that swore to protect a madman who burned innocent people alive." 

 

Jaime favored Aemon with a smug grin. "Aye, do you even know what honor is?" And with that he turned and sauntered back into the feast, his white cloak whipped back and forth behind him. 

 

 _What does honor mean?_ Aemon asked himself with a frown, as the dark quickly engulfed him and he started to walk back to his bedchamber. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**ELIA**

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of all the rooms in Sunspear's Palace, Elia's bedchamber were the largest. Rising from the Old Palace is the tower where was located her bedchamber. The same since she was born in this place forty one years ago. That was the little thing, here was her true home while King's Landing was still foreign to her.

 

 _You will get used to it_ , her mother told her the day she knew she was to marry the heir of the Iron throne. Forty years ago she wasn't, and that made her giggle. She was three years older than Rhaegar when they wedded in the Sept of Baelor, witnessed by thousands of people and the seven themselves. 

 

"Aegon is still not ready," Rhaegar said as he stood facing the pale moon high on the sky. He turned back to her, his eyes were haunted and his voice thick with doubt.

 

Elia sat up in the bed. "He is a smart boy, he surely is thinking about it." 

 

"His duties are here first, I know. I have no wish for him to be the one to shoulder all our hope of survival. Believe me, I would rather have him having no part in any of this if I was the one the gods choose." Rhaegar said, his face melancholic. "Aemon too."

 

"He will understand that. He will become king after you, and kings must protect their people." 

 

Rhaegar shook his head. "Everything I did was to protect our people. Everything I read about the Long Night, I tried to take the best precautions and make the right adjustment so the we could be ready when they'll start to march on us. I can't have the savior of the humanity doubt."

 

"You grow up with these stories, we did not. In our eyes it is only legends and stories that wet nurse told to frighten us, Rhaegar." She said softly.

 

"Grumkins and snarks?" Rhaegar chuckled bitterly.

 

"In his eyes, yes." she said.

 

"And in yours?" His dark indigo looked at her.

 

"And in mine," She said truthfully. "I remember how Doran used to tell those stories to frighten Oberyn and I. But in the end they stayed what they always were. Stories." 

 

That brought a bitter twist in Rhaegar's mouth. "Aye, I know that people south think it is just fantasy invented by barbarian northerners. Grumkins and Snarks they called them. But more wildlings are trying to get pas the Wall, the rangers sent by the Night's Watch usually end up missing and the number of deserter increased."

 

She was about to answer him when the knock came at the door, loud and unexpected. Rhaegar turned, frowning. "What is it?"

 

Ser Arthur's voice came through the door. "You Grace, Ser Alliser Thorne is here and begs urgent audience."

 

"Ser Alliser?" Rhaegar asked. "Why would he be here instead of being in Dragonstone?"

 

"He insisted that it was an urgent matter."

 

"Very well. Send him in."

 

Ser Alliser was shown in. 

 

The knight was a slim and sinewy fifty-year-old man. His eyes were black, and hard. His hair was black streaked with grey. The knight waited until the door had closed behind him before he spoke. "Your Grace," He said to Rhaegar, "Pardon for disturbing your rest. I have been left a message."

 

Rhaegar looked intrigued. "Been left? By whom? Has there been a problem in Dragonstone? I was not told."

 

"There was no problem in Dragonstone, Your Grace. Only a message left by Maester Cressen to be delivered."

 

"A message?" Elia said.

 

"Yes, Your Grace. It is sealed and can only be read by the king."

 

Rhaegar frowned. His patience was wearing thin, Elia knew. "What is the matter?"

 

"I don't know," Ser Alliser said. "It was only tasked for me to deliver."

 

Rhaegar held out his hand. "Let me have it, then."

 

Ser Alliser nodded, and approached and placed the paper on Rhaegar's hand. It was sealed with a small blob of red was. Alliser bowed and began to retreat.

 

"Thank you, ser. I shall reward you accordingly for your services." He commanded him. His voice grave. The man bowed, and quickly excused himself.

 

In the red wax was the three-headed dragon seal of House Targaryen. Rhaegar broke the seal. His eyes moved over the words. Rhaegar's eyes widened. Elia crossed the room, and put his arm gently on his shoulder. "Rhaegar, what was this message?"

 

Rhaegar stiffened in her touch. "A warning."

 

Her eyes searched his face. "A warning?"

 

"Maester Cressen says Richard was murdered."

 

Elia widened her eyes. "By whom?"

 

He told her. "They caught the assassin. He said Prince Viserys instructed him to kill Ser Richard, in exchange of a bag of gold dragon." 

 

"Viserys is cruel," Elia said. "Rhaegar, you know it is the truth; You must have seen it by now. He's quick to anger, and did you see how violent he was to Daenerys." She sighed softly. "He is more than capable of doing this."

 

She saw at once that Rhaegar was thinking the same thing, yet he reached a different conclusion. "The only truth I know is that he is only accused. The south is a nest of viper. Anyone would says false accusation and lie to stay alive, I'll do better than become a kinslayer for a non-founded accusation."

 

"You saw him earlier, Rhaegar." Ser Arthur made his presence known. "If we weren't there, he looked like he was going to murder you. I saw only one man with those kind of eyes."  

 

"Yes," Rhaegar said dully. He seated in a hearth by the window. "I'll go to Drangonstone to question that man. Elia, you shall stay here in Sunspear."

 

She nodded, a kind smile adorned her face. "Yes, I understand."

 

"Good," Rhaegar said. "I'll come back quickly. Ser Arthur and Ser Gerold will accompany me." Rhaegar gently kissed her forehead. "Thank you, Elia. When I come back, I'll see to punish Viserys if what the cutthroat says is the truth."

 

"When shall we leave, Your Grace?" The Kingsguard asked.

 

"Preparation must be made. It would be a fortnight before we are ready to depart. Still previse the others, and make sure to place Kingsguard on every member of the royal family. Even Viserys. I don't know his motive yet, but I will not risk another tragedy." He commanded.

 

 

 

 

 


	3. A Meeting With Destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparation are made, people are meeting and a joust is held.

**DAENERYS**

 

 

 

 

 

 

Daenerys' hands and gown were dirty again.

 

She frowned down at them with dismay and glanced over to where her niece sat among the other girls. Rhaenys was a lady. she possessed the traditional feminine grace of her milieu, with a keen interest in music, embroidery, poetry, dancing and other traditional feminine activities. Daenerys wasn't interested in neither of those things. She was more interested in fighting and riding horses. She loved to ride. Her mother's often called her a "centaur".

 

Daenerys glanced furtively across the courtyard, worried that someone would discover her in this state. She looked glumly at her brother. Viserys was chatting happily with a girl as he followed her. 

 

"What are you doing here?" She heard a voice asking behind her.

 

Daenerys turned and a gave a startled look, then bit her lips. Yet she didn't answered. 

 

"Tell me." Aemon said.

 

Daenerys glanced over to make sure that no one was listening. 

 

"I was going to my bedchamber... after a horse ride." Daenerys said, her gaze settling on the dark grey eyes of her nephew.

 

He looked at her with an expressionless face. Daenerys sighed as she hid her hands behind her back. "You should go wash yourself," He said. "And change your gown, it's stained with mud." 

 

"I know already." Daenerys said, much too loudly. Her voice cut through the afternoon quiet of the courtyard.

 

Aemon frowned. "Very well."

 

"I was going to take a bath," Daenerys corrected, crossing her arms. "I meant to go take a bath until you appeared behind me." She said.

 

Aemon nodded. "Aye. Forgive me for frightening you." Daenerys frowned uncertainly at the words. "So..." 

 

Daenerys wanted to scream. It was just like her to go and attract the people's attention when she was looking like she had been playing with pigs. "So?" She asked. 

 

Aemon examined her face. "So aren't you going?" He said. "You said it yourself. You were going before I interrupted you." 

 

Daenerys glared at him. He gave her the same expressionless face. "I was leaving!" She protested.

 

She pushed herself on her feet, and bolted for the gates that lead to her bedchamber. Daenerys stopped at the gate and turned back, biting her lip. She managed a stiff little bow to Aemon. "By your leave, my lord."

 

Aemon frowned at her, but nodded curtly. "Very well." Aemon turned his back to her, and started walking down the yard.

 

Daenerys glared at him. "Prince Aegon is sweet. You are melancholic, just like your father." She said sweetly, taking a brief satisfaction in the frown on his face. Then she whirled and made her exit, running through the hallway as fast as her feet would take her.

 

Ser Barristan was waiting for her at the base of the stairs. He crossed his arms as soon as he caught the sight of Daenerys. Daenerys smiled. The old knight was kind to her, even if no one else was. He followed her everywhere, and Ser Barristan even gave her advice about swordplay. 

 

"My princess, the tourney has started with the traditional seven-sided melee," He smiled.

 

Daenerys made a face at him. "Really? Is it already finished?."

 

"It is taking place as we speak, I'll go fetch a servant to draw a bath for you," Ser Barristan gave her a curious look. "You shouldn't go alone on your ride, your grace. The next time, I'll go with you."

 

Daenerys climbed the stairs, and opened her bedchamber, leaving the old knight standing behind the door. There came a soft knock on her door. "Come," Dany said. A servant entered, bowed and set about their business. The old woman, small and grey as a mouse. She filled a bath with hot water and scented it with fragrant oils. Dany pulled the dirty tunic over her head, and entered the tub. The old woman washed her long, silver hair and softly combed out the snags. Thinking about her earlier encounter with her melancholic, she thought of how different he was to his brother. Prince Aegon was bright, and attired people to him while Prince Aemon was an enigma. He was a solitary person, and never talked.

 

When she was clean, the servant helped her from the water and toweled her dry. She dressed her in a velvet gown, the old woman slid the gilded sandals onto her feet. Finally she brushed her hair, until it shone like the sun. Daenerys climbed down the stairs, Ser Barristan following hard at her heels. They arrived at the tourney's opening festivities, and a servant quickly showed her way to the stage where her family was sitting. 

 

To her disappointment, the melee was close to finished. Only four knights were still on their horses. They were huffing as they rushed at each other and hitting at each other with sword under the watchful eyes of old Prince Doran. A hundred spectators, man and women, were calling out encouragement. Aegon's voice the loudest among them. She spotted Tyrion Lannister, beside his father and sister. His red doublet emblazoned with the golden lion of House Lannister, a bored look on his face. With a heavy blow, one of the knights fell from his horse and fell hard on the floor. 

 

"A shade more exhausting than needlework, don't you think?" Aegon observed.

 

"A shade more fun than needlework." Dany gave back at him. Aegon grinned, and reached for the goblet of wine beside him.

 

"Why aren't you down in the field?" Daenerys asked him.

 

He chuckled. "Swordsmanship isn't my strongest attribute." He said. "It is more Aemon's specialty. You should see him with one, he's natural with it." He laughed. "It look as though he was born with a sword on his hand."

 

"Oh." she watched one of the knights whack at the other. "I could do just as good as them." she said. "Ser Alliser said that if I was a man I could be one of the finest sword in the Seven Kingdoms." 

 

Aegon looked over her with all of his fourteen-year-old wisdom. "I doubt you could even lift a longsword, never mind swing one."

 

Daenerys glared at him. Aegon laughed again. They watched the two remaining knights circle each other. 

 

"You see the man with the spear?" Aegon asked.

 

Dany looked. An light spear with a wavy edge that was adorned with a copper viper. The man wore a red armor with a sun adorned on it, Apatterns of scale making it as though the man was a viper.

 

"Look at the viper adorned on his spear," Aegon suggested. "It's my uncle, Oberyn. They nickname him "the red viper" because he is known due to the rumors that he fight with a poisoned blade. He's as quick as a water snake and equally as dangerous as a viper."

 

"It is cheating to fight with a poisoned blade," Daenerys protested.

 

Aegon chuckled. "Aye, Perhaps.. But it give him an advantage. Only one cut and the fight is over, the odds are in his favor."

 

There was a shout from the field below. The other knight was rolling on the dust, trying to get up but falling. Oberyn Martell was standing over him with his spear at his throat, ready to strike if the man regained his feet. He removed his helm, and smirked. The spectators started to applause and shout his name. 

 

"I was very careful to not kill you. Best be careful, I'm a bloodthirsty man and when I lose patience I bite." He gave the man a hand and yanked him back on his feet. "Well fought, you should go see the whores and tell them about you achievements on how you didn't die at my hands." He began to laugh.

 

Rhaella looked around, and asked. "Aegon, where is your brother?"

 

"Aye, I wonder about that too," He said, looking at the field. "He hate fighting, unlikely we'll see his shadow until the feast tonight, grandmother." 

 

Daenerys looked at him. "Didn't you said he was natural with a sword?"

 

"Aye, doesn't mean he likes it. Aemon's goal is to 'erase fighting from the world'." Aegon said.

 

Rhaella smiled softly. "He remind me of you father." She said. "Rhaegar didn't liked fighting, until one day he asked Ser Willem Darry to teach him. When I asked why, he said to me 'It seems I must be a warrior'."

 

Rhaegar looked at her. "Aye, it seems so."

 

Daenerys could see a little smile tugging at Rhaegar's mouth. He was proud of him. Her mother turned on Aegon. "You certainly take after you mother. But I also can see a shade of Rhaegar in you, sweetling." She said gently.

 

"I hope, I'll be as worthy as him when I become king." Aegon smiled.

 

Viserys feigned a yawn and turned to his older brother. "Come, Rhaegar," He said. "I've waited enough, my patience is wearing thin. Would the lord of Seven Kingdoms and his lovely heir give us silence to enjoy the tournament."

 

That brought a dead silence in the high stage. Rhaegar was looking at Viserys with serious expression and queen Elia was trying her best to keep Aegon locked in her grip. Behind them the kingsguards had all their hands on the hilt of their swords, face adorned with outrage and anger. Viserys started to laugh, telling Rhaegar that it was a jest and that he shouldn't be looking like he'd saw Robert Baratheon coming back from the grave.

 

Dany didn't think it was funny. "I hate him," She said with passion. 

 

"Don't fret, little brother." Rhaegar said with an iron tone. "I'm a patient man, otherwise silence would be all you will get." 

 

He rose from his seat and walked away, Ser Arthur and Ser Gerold moving silently behind him. It was worse than what Rhaegar had said. In the end, Viserys would get silence  _and_ suffering.

 

* * *

 

**TYRION**

 

 

 

 

 

Somewhere in the great maze that Shadow city, a little man was singing the Dornishman's Wife. The sound hung over the city like a flag of morning.

 

Tyrion Lannister looked to the well-shaped body of the woman laying beside him, something about dornish girl took a man right out of his mind and left him a sweet taste afterwards. 

 

Tyrion finished the song, and started to dress himself. He covered a yawn with the back of his mind. The lamp was flickering, its oil half gone, as a dawn of light was creeping through the window. They had been at it all night, but for him it was nothing new. Tyrion Lannister was not much one for sleeping.

 

His leg were stiff, as he eased down off the bed. He left a golden coin behind for the whore that was snoring softly and started walking away. Outside Tyrion gulped a lungful of the morning air and began his laborious walk step that led to the castle. It was slow going, the roads were narrow and the air was dusty. The sun had not yet cleared the walls of the castle, but the servants already making preparation for the tourney.

 

"The king is leaving. I wish he would be quicker about it." Sandor Clegane's rasping voice drifted to him.

 

Tyrion glanced up and saw the Hound standing with a young Gerion as squires swarmed around them. "At least he leave quietly," His nephew said. "It's the servants that make the noise. I could scare sleep last night."

 

Clegane lowered the black helm over his head. "I could silence them, if it please you," he said through his open visor. His longsword in his hand, he tested the weight of it and sliced the morning air. 

 

The notion seemed to delight his nephew. "Send a dog to kill dogs!" He exclaimed. "It is so much infested with those filth, the Martells would never miss one."

 

Tyrion walked up slowly the last step onto the yard. "I beg to differ, dear nephew," he said. "Doran Martell can count past ten. Unlike some lordling I know."

 

"Who talked to me?" Gerion laughed. As he always did when he did this farce. "A voice from nowhere."

 

Tyrion was used to it. "Down here."

 

Gerion peered down at the ground, and pretended to notice him. "Little uncle," He said. "I did not see you standing there."

 

"I am in no mood for your insolence today," Tyrion said to his nephew. "Gerion, it is past time you called Prince Aegon, and offer him your greeting and gift."

 

Gerion looked as petulant as only a pampered lordling can look. "What good will it do to me?" 

 

"None," Tyrion said. "Yet it is expected of you. Your absence has been noted."

 

"The Targaryen cunt is nothing to me," Gerion said. 

 

Tyrion Lannister reached up and slapped his nephew across the face. The boy's cheek began to redden.

 

"One word," Tyrion said. "And I hit you again."

 

"I'm going to tell mother!" The boy exclaimed.

 

Tyrion hit him again. This time on the other cheek.

 

"Go on," Tyrion told him. "But first you will go to Prince Aegon, and fall to your knees in front of him, and you will tell him how sorry you are to not have greeted him, and that you are at his service if there is the slightest thing you can do for him. And that all you wish is good for his future. Do you understand?"

 

His nephew looked like as though he was going to cry, but instead managed a weak nod. The he turned and fled hurriedly, holding his cheek. Tyrion watched him run from the yard. Sandor Clegane looming over him like a cliff. He had lowered his visor. The helm was fashioned in the style of a fierce dog snarling, giving him a fearsome expression for people to behold.

 

"The little lord will remember that, halfman," The Hound warned him. 

 

"Oh? I hope he does," Tyrion smiled. "If he ever forget, be a good dog and remind him." He said. "Do you know where my brother is? I bet a bag of coins on him, I want to see if he's feeling good today."

 

"Breaking fast with Lady Cersei."

 

"Ah." Tyrion said. "Is Jon Arryn still abed?" Sandor Clegane gave him a nod, and walked away as he cast long shadow across at the hard-packed floor.  

 

Jaime sat at the table with Cersei, talking in low, hushed voices. His sister peered at him with the same disgusted expression she had worn the day he was born. "Jon Arryn did not sleep at all," she said. "He is with the king. He has taken his position as Hand deeply to heart."

 

"He has a large sense of responsibility, our Jon," Jaime said with a lazy smile. Jaime didn't take anything seriously. Tyrion knew about that and forgave him. Jaime was the only one who during his lonely childhood every showed him a ounce of affection, and for that Tyrion was will to forgive anything.

 

"The king is leaving for Dragonstone," Jaime announced. "Ser Gerold said that he would take only fifty shield with him."

 

"Oh, why would king Rhaegar leave in the middle of the tournament held for his heir's name day?" Tyrion asked. The servant brought his plate. He ripped off a chunk of bread.

 

"What do you mean?" Cersei asked warily.

 

Tyrion gave her a crooked smile. "Why, it must be truly important for the king to leave all his family behind." He took a sip of his wine. "Don't you think so, sweet sister?"

 

"What were Ser Gerold's words?" Cersei asked.

 

The bacon crunched when he bit into it. Jaime chewed thoughtfully for a moment and answered. "He said that only Ser Arthur and him would accompany the king, we're to guard the rest of the royal family."

 

"Will you guard Prince Aegon?" Tyrion asked.

 

"I'm to guard Prince Aemon," He told them. "Ser Barristan will guard the crown prince."

 

"Prince Aemon? There is something unnatural with this boy," Cersei frowned. "He's dangerous, if I was the queen I would not have him near my children."

 

Jaime said. "You'll have a hard time stopping him, sister, King Rhaegar is fond of the boy."

 

Tyrion started his ham. "Are you leaving before the end of the tourney?"

 

"Yes," Cersei said, and then frowned. "Are we leaving?" she repeated. "What about you? Gods, don't tell me you are staying here?"

 

Tyrion shrugged. "Prince Aemon is leaving for the Wall. I have to go see this Wall we all heard so much of."

 

Jaime smiled. "Oh, will you take the black? sweet brother."

 

Tyrion laughed. "Don't worry, dear brother. I'm too young to be celibate, if I would take the black the whore from Dorne right up to Winterfell would throw themselves from tower."

 

Cersei stood up abruptly. "I will not stand here, and hear this filth." She strode away from the morning room, her handmaidens trailing behind her.

 

"King Rhaegar should have never consented to let his son leave for the Wall." Jaime looked thoughtful. 

 

"He would for his prophecy," Tyrion said. "Grumkins and Snarks they call them here. If a prince sees them, how could they stay stories?" 

 

"The boy would surely end up lost beyond the wall, or dead," Jaime said. "Better a clean death, than dying of the cold."

 

Tyrion shrugged his shoulders. "I beg to differ. Death is so final, while life.. well life is full of possibilities."

 

"Even if the prince live, it is not sure if he would come back." Jaime smiled. "After all, if rangers of the Night's Watch lost themselves. What would a boy with no knowledge of the land beyond the Wall would do?"

 

He took a swallow of his wine, and grinned up wolfishly at his brother. "Why, Jaime, my dear brother," he said. "Sometime it take someone willing to die for the cause, to make a difference."

 

 

* * *

 

**AEMON**

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the field below, the knights rode with their shining armors.

 

Aemon watched for his seat. He sighed. He wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere than in this place. Angry at the thought of violence for sport, Aemon chased his anger away before it could it could show. This tourney was for Aegon's name day, he refused to let his distaste ruin his day. He wasn't present during the melee, and it was already improper for the Martells, today he had to be present.

 

He watched as the seven knights of the kingsguard took the field, all in scaled armor the color of milk, their cloak as white as snow. Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain thundered past them like an avalanche. The warrior priest Thoros of Myr, with his flapping red robes and shaved head. Other riders Aemon didn't know: hedge knights from the mountains of Dorne, Westerland and the Vale. Jalabbhar Xho, a exiled prince from the Summer isles who wore a cape of green and scarlet feathers over his skin as dark as night.

 

Sandor Clegane entered the lists as well, and so too the prince's brother, deadly Prince Oberyn of Sunspear. "This one look like a beggar among these others," His uncle Viserys mocked. Aemon looked closely at the lean and short knight. He looked at the knight closely, and frowned. He was slim of frame and short of stature, his armor's was blue-grey plate without device or ornament that appeared ill-fitting on him and he had with him a leathern shield.

 

He challenged with a booming voice three squires that won a place among the champs, all in jousting, non older than sixteen-year-old. The boys were all larger than him in size. The mysterious knight specified that if he won, he would be winning custody over their armors and horses. None of the said knights were popular, so the smallfolk cheered for the mysterious knight. He defeated all three of the previously mentioned knights, winning custody over their armors and horses.

 

Ser Jaime rode brillantly. He overthrew Ser Ryon Allyrion and the Warden of the Stone Way Anders Yronwood as easily as if he were riding against children, and then took a hard-fought match against old Ser Barristan, who had won his first two tilts against men twenty and forty years his junior. 

 

Ser Gregor seemed unstoppable as well, riding one opponents after next in a ferocious and brutal style. During Ser Gregor third joust, his lance rode up and struck a young hedge knight from the Westerlands on his his face with such a force and brutality that the youth fell from his horse and landed hard on the ground, killing him instantly. He was hit with such a force, that the fall snapped his neck. The young knight was nothing for him, a stranger name that everyone would forgot and Aemon realized that the man died for nothing, except a song that would never be sang about him.  

 

In the end it came down to four; the Hound and his awful brother, the prince of Dorne Oberyn Martell, Jaime Lannister and the mysterious knight that was nicknamed "The Leather That Rides" because of his leathern shield. But the mysterious knight was nowhere to be found, as does his aunt Princess Daenerys. Viserys had in mind that his sister dishonored herself with the mysterious knight and offered gold for someone that could bring the young knight on his knees.

 

"Father, May I be excuse?" Aemon asked, looking at his father.

 

"You may. Take Ser Oswell with you, lad." Rhaegar replied.

 

Afterward Aemon walked silently to the stables, as he was passing the Hound's shield, its ornament sullied by a deep gash where Ser Jaime lance had scarred the wood as had drove him from his saddle.

 

Aemon's look was troubled. "They say day's beauties fade at night."

 

"They say so." The young knight agreed. "But I'm a man, not a woman." He told him.

 

Aemon only needed a look to understand, "You're not a man," He told her. "You should go change yourself before your brother or someone find you in that suit of armor, Aunt Daenerys."  

 

Daenerys seemed honestly taken aback. "How? How could you have known that it was me?" She removed the helm from her head, her silky silver-blond hair falling on her breastplate as though it was a waterfall.

 

Aemon rose an eyebrow. "I saw your hair when rode against the first squire," He said. "And you were apparently sick, I was not sure at first but I thought I'd confirm it by finding this mysterious knight."

 

His aunt rose to her feet, her face flushed. "Damn that helm! I knew I should have tied up my hair."

 

For a moment Daenerys was so angry she couldn't speak. She strode across the stables, whirled and strode back. Her face angry and flushed. She snatched her breastplate from herself and threw on the ground in a wordless fury. 

 

"You should go change," Aemon said awkwardly. "If uncle Viserys find you here, he'll thought that I dishonored you, and he will learn also about your wild side." He had small liking for his uncle, but he could see his point of view concerning this scene.

 

"It would not trouble me if they find that I'm wild," She shook her head. "Ah, perhaps it is not proper to be seen in this state with you." Daenerys looked at Aemon and scowled at his silence. "You might leave now, you know."

 

"I will..." Aemon began carefully. "After you'll give me the armor."

 

"What?" She said brusquely.

 

Aemon took the breastplate from the ground, and started to put on the suit. "If you go now, people will notice. I'll take your place even if the size would be different bu no one would claim it was you, understand?" He frowned at how stranger he was acting.

 

"Why would you that?" Daenerys said.

 

"I told you to give the armor, not to argue. You made this, you could at least have the courtesy to understand the situation you put yourself in," Aemon told her.

 

She nodded and after Aemon put the armor, they walked to the jousting field. He had promised himself to not fight for nothing, yet here he was ready to enter the list for the foolishness of his aunt. He didn't understand. He didn't understand himself. 

 

Gregor Clegane was the first rider to appear. He wore an a thick armor, the armor looked so heavy that Aemon thought no ordinary man would be able to move, let alone fight effectively wearing it. Below the plate he wore chainmail and boiled leather, a helm with only a narrow slit for vision and a yellow cloak bearing the three black dogs of House Clegane. 

 

"A hundred golden dragons on the Mountain," Viserys announced loudly as Leather entered the lists, riding a black destrier. 

 

"Done," Prince Oberyn shouted back. "This Leather has a determined look ever since he rode against those three idiots."

 

"Even determined man know better than to climb a mountain that could lead to their death," Viserys called dryly.

 

Gregor Clegane dropped his visor with a loud clang and took his position. Leather quietly rode to the end of the list. Both men couched their lances. The hastily erected gallery shouted as the horses broke into gallops. The Mountain leaned forward as he rode, his lance rock steady but Leather shifted his seat deftly in the instant before the impact. Clegane's point was turned harmlessly against the leathern shield, while his own hit square. Woods shattered, and the Mountain reeled, struggling to keep his seat. A loud cheer came from the commons.

 

"I wonder if this little prince know how to spend his money," Oberyn called to prince Viserys.

 

The Mountain barly managed to stay in his saddle. He jerked his mount around hard and rode back to the lists for the second pass. Leather tossed down his broken lance and took a fresh one, his shattered lance landing on the ground with an audible sound. The Mountain spurred forward at a hard gallop. Leather rode to meet him. This time when Leather shifted his seat, Gregor shifted with him. Both lances exploded, and by time the dust had settled, a riderless black horse was trotting off while Leather rolled in the dirt.

 

Viserys said. "I knew this monster would win."

 

Leather was back on his feet, but his helm had been twisted around and dented in his fall. The commons were cheering for their champions, while Viserys was laughing louder than anyone else. Wordlessly he turned, and strode off to the stables, stumbling.

 

The night at the feast, Aemon was more tired than he had ever been in his life. Aegon joined him as his sister spoke to her cousins pleasantly. "The end of the tournament was magnificent," He said. "But you know it already since you were down on the field, little brother." Aegon grinned. "How is your back?"

 

"I'm sore all over," Aemon reported quietly, displaying a purple bruise on his arm.  

 

"You must be a madman going against that beast." Aegon laughed loudly.

 

"Even the strongest of opponents has a weakness," Aemon said. "The Mountain too."

 

He nodded. "Aye, but only one mistake and it's over for you."

 

"Yes, he was incredibly fast for someone of his size," Aemon agreed quietly. "I was foolish to think I could beat him with speed, but he can be beaten. His heavy armor is his weakness, Aegon."

 

Later Aegon accompanied his him to his bedchamber, but his brother seemed preoccupied by something. "You really are going?" His brother said, his eyes said.

 

"Yes," Aemon answered quietly. "I wondered when you would get around to that."

 

"You are needed here!" He exclaimed. "I need you, little brother. When I'll be king  I would need my little brother. You can't be beside me if you die on a stupid mission to find legendary creature." 

 

"Aegon," Aemon said with a soft smile. "You and I are flesh and blood. I'm always going to be there for you, even if you end up hating me. That's what brother are for." He told his brother. "You are going to be king, and if I don't come back you'll have to accept your role one way or another. I don't think something like perfection exist. Everyone would make mistake but those who forgive themselves, and are able to accept their true nature... They are the strong ones!"

 

Aegon chuckled. "What a poor older brother I am," He said. "Here I am the one who should be protecting you, and you're the one doing this."

 

"For me too," Aemon said. "Leaving is harder than I thought."

 

"You're not going to die," He said. "I know it."

 

Aemon smiled. "I'll be back as soon as I see them."

 

Aegon looked slightly relieved. "Then I'll trust you will uphold your promise, little brother."

 

"Aye," Aemon said, slipping behind his door. 

 

Aemon laid on his bed, the face of a wild girl floated up in the back of his mind. "Daenerys..." Murmuring the girl's name, Aemon quietly closed his eyes.


	4. Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Departure, new arrival and a strange cup of wine

**AEMON**

  


  


  


  


  


 

Aemon climbed up the steps quietly, trying to not think that it could be the last time ever. Ser Jaime followed behind silently behind him. Outside, the sun shone through the castle gates, and the yard was all noise, but inside the thick red stone was too quiet.

 

He reached the landing and stood for a long moment, afraid for some reason. Ser Jaime chuckled behind him. He breathed and entered the room. 

 

Inside his father stood by the window, looking at the sky. He stood at the door for a moment, afraid to speak for some reason. The window was open. Below, a man yelled. His father looked over.

 

"You called for me, father," Aemon said. "What is it?"

 

His face did not change. His long silver hair was dull. He looked as though he had not sleep at all. "I wanted to say good-bye." He smiled. The slightest bit apologetically. "People might think that I ran away with Lyanna because I was just a madman and interested in the prophecy but I loved her. I loved her dearly. I think she would have murdered me if she was there, she must be cursing me as we speak because I am sending our only son to a certain death." 

 

Aemon frowned. "It is my choice, father." He said. 

 

His father chuckled. "Since you were a little boy, you always showed noticeable maturity for your age and you always had knowledge on how to deal with every situation," He looked at Aemon over his shoulder. "Yet at the same time you are still naive... but you try to learn from you peers. You would have made a great king, better than me."

 

His father looked back and Aemon caught sadness in his eyes. There was sadness that Aemon had never seen before. His father smiled miserably. "Our fight with the Other will certainly lead to a new world." He said. "A world of peace, perhaps.. Isn't it your dream, your goal?"

 

Staring at his unresponsive son, Rhaegar continued. "Many people will die. Some house might even become extinct by the end of the war." 

 

Whatever words his father used, the essential nature of it was the same. The senseless deaths of a large number of people. Aemon realized he was shaking his head, when his field of view rocketed slowly from side to side. Faster than his thoughts, his body was rejecting his father.

 

"But you are giving us a chance," Abruptly, Aemon's eyes were on his father. "You are giving us a chance to prepare before it's too late. People are locked away in their own little world, if you find them, you will open the eyes of many people." He said. "You put a great burden on you, lad. But I'm sure you will succeed."

 

"Yes." Aemon replied, briefly.

 

The corner of his father's mouth turned up the slightest bit. "Aegon wasn't pleased by the idea of you going beyond the Wall." 

 

Going beyond the Wall wasn't just to witness the Others. No, it had a deeper meaning for Aemon. If he distinguished himself there, the idea of building an unshakable position for himself as a pillar of the Seven Kingdoms moved out of the realm of dreams, and into reality.

 

To change this world, he would have to become important. If perhaps he became Hand of the King, he would be able to change everything.  

 

Bit by bit, he was starting to see clear signposts on the path he must walk in order to remove war from this world. First, he would warn the world of the Other's threat. He would distinguish himself there and establish himself as a central figure in the Seven Kingdoms. After that he would become Hand of the King, and get rid the Seven Kingdoms' prejudice toward the lowborn and bastards. Everyone would be the same, commonfolk and noble alike.

 

He was at the door when his father called out to him. "Aemon," He said. He turned to find him looking at his face, as if seeing for the first time.

 

"Yes?" Aemon said.

 

"I'm proud of you, lad." He told him. Then he turned back toward the window. Aemon had never heard him saying that.

 

It was a long walk down to the yard.

 

Outside, everything was noise and chaos. Wagons were being loaded, men were shouting, horse were being saddled and led from the stables. A light breeze was filling the air and everyone were was in uproar to be off. Aegon was in the middle of it, shouting commands with best of them. He seemed to have grown a little, as if the depart of his father had someway made him stronger. Ser Lewyn was at his side.

 

"Ah! I was looking for you," He told Aemon. "I thought you were gone an hour ago."

 

"I know," Aemon said. "Soon." He listenned at all the noise around him. "Living is a little harder than I thought."

 

"For me too, little brother." Aegon said. He had his hair tied up, making him look as though he was older than he really was. "Did you see father?"

 

Aemon nodded quietly.

 

"Did he say to you 'how your mission was important for us' and that you were our 'last hope' nonsense?" He said. "I knew it."

 

"He did say that." Aemon agreed. "Among other things.." He frowned at his words.

 

Aegon knew something was wrong. "Your mother..."

 

"I am fine," Aemon told him. “The dead are what they are.. dead, no need to dwell on the past.”

 

Aegon looked relieved. "Good," He smiled. "Maybe you'll be dressed like a crow when you'll come back."

 

Aemon smiled back. "I always loved crows."

 

"How long do you think it will be?" Aegon forced himself to smile.

 

"Soon enough," Aemon promised. He pulled Aegon to him and embraced him fiercely. "Until next time, Aegon."

 

Aegon hugged him back. "Aye, Aemon. Take care of yourself."

 

"I will," They broke apart and looked at each other with smiles. Aemon left him there, surrounded by wagons and horses. It was a short walk to the stables.

 

The memory of his brother's smile warmed him on the long ride North.

  


  


* * *

  


**RHAEGAR**

  


  


  


  


  


  


 

The soft waves hitting the boat relaxed him in his sleep.

 

Ser Arthur was standing at his door, not a mark of exhaustiveness on his face. Ser Arthur was an old friend, the man he trusted the most in the Seven Kingdoms. He walked silently behind him as they made for the deck of the ship. It was empty. This emptiness somewhat relaxed him, he always loved the quiet and peace he managed sometime to have.

 

"So many cheater.. Tell me Arthur, what is the appeal of ruling?" Rhaegar sighed as he looked at the dew. "What is it that make someone betray his own brother for the sake of something so tiring?"

 

Arthur chuckled. "What else than power, Rhaegar." He said. "Power to do anything without getting accused of doing a crime."

 

"Power is something dark and dangerous. It corrupts even the best man," Rhaegar explained. "Give a man just a little power, and he'll try to use it for his own benefits."

 

"You will give justice to Ser Richard," Arthur patted him on his shoulder. "The Knight of skulls and Kisses... It is a good name to be remembered by, don't you think?"

 

A smile touched Rhaegar's lips. "Aye, I do believe it's a great name."

 

"I do too," The kingsguard said. "More's the pity.. and yet there that one time... Do you remember? When he drunk half of a barrel of wine and decided to win over Lady Catelyn?"

 

"Lady Catelyn, yes." Rhaegar laughed. "Luckily she wasn't betrothed yet to the Wild Wolf, otherwise he would have killed him."

 

"Aye, A wild one he was Brandon Stark..." Arthur said. "Yet this wildness cost him his life."

 

Rhaegar's face showed melancholy. "Lyanna called it the wolf blood," He smiled. "When I met her, I was quite shocked by how much this girl could curse. Every woman in the capital would blush just by looking at me, yet there she was talking to me like I was some blacksmith or innkeeper." He sighed heavily. "In any case, we should stop by Storm's End on our way."

 

"Storm's End?" Arthur frowned.

 

"Yes, we'll stop to get a little floor beneath our feet and get supplies for the rest of the journey," Rhaegar told him. "Shipbreaker bay is a dangerous sea, I would like to be at least prepared since I don't want us to disappear in sea like Steffon Baratheon did."

 

Arthur looked at the soft waves that rocketed the boat. "The Sea of Dorne is kind, we should be at Storm's End by six days time." 

 

"Very well," Rhaegar said, removing his cloak from himself. "Well, I did not come here only just to get the confirmation of Viserys betrayal. I want to know who is whispering those ideas in his ear, because I know that my foolish brother would never had raised a finger if he was not encouraged." He stated with an iron voice. "I want to know why he killed Richard."

 

He already had suspicion. Petyr Baelish was his master of coins. He served him well, but had ambitions that wasn't just for his king's benefits. Tywin Lannister was also suspicious since Rhaegar had chosen Jon Arryn as his Hand and left the Old Lion asides for his late coming during Robert's Rebellion.

 

"Prince Viserys wants to be king, Rhaegar," Arthur said. "He is naive, but so was King Aerys before the defiance of Duskendale. If someone use this gullibility and succeed in making him king, he would be the true ruler of the Seven Kingdoms."

 

"And how long will Viserys remain naive?" Rhaegar's mouth grew hard. "How long until he start a civil war?"

 

"Aye, but who will side with him?" Arthur asked. "Lord Stark would never rebel against you, he is too honorable. So is Jon Arryn since you made him your Hand. The Martell's are relied by blood and will support Aegon. With only those three houses you are subtracting four kingdom out of seven?"

 

Rhaegar chuckled. "The Old Lion would never side with him, not if he is sure of the victory. Balon Greyjoy is a bitter man, he would ask to be King in exchange and knowing Viserys temper it would be pointless."

 

"It would make the Seven Kingdoms bleed, Rhaegar," Arthur said.

 

"I felt it coming," Rhaegar told him. "I felt a storm coming, something that could tear everything apart and I am not talking about the Others. A Targaryen Civil War? The Others would have free passage if men start to kill each other."

 

The Sword of the Morning groaned. "Aye, it would make the Seven Kingdoms bleed."

 

“Bending together is the only option for us to survive. It seems that I have to once again crush a rebellion, and this time by my own flesh and blood.” Rhaegar chuckled. “I must meet Lord Renly, I don't trust him and he could take advantage of this situation to take revenge.”

 

Arthur nodded. “What about the Reach? Do you think that fool of Mace Tyrell could join Viserys?”

 

“No. I promised him to make his daughter queen.” Rhaegar crossed his arms. “I won't let Viserys gain more power and support. If it comes to war, it will end before it even began.”

 

“Whatever happens,” Arthur went to one knee before the king. “I will always stand at your side, your Grace.”

 

No sooner had the knight taken his leave than the sun began to rise, outside the light covering the sky was the dew of dawn, and  all the waves were peacefully hitting the boat. The king sat in his study chair,  his face marked by weariness.

 

After a long silence he turned to Ser Gerold. “Lord Commander,” he said, “Who did you assign to guard Aegon?”

 

“Ser Barristan,” The White Bull answered matter-of-factly.

 

“Good.. Viserys being there, we need someone trustworthy and skilled.”

 

“The rest are all trustworthy and skilled, they will do their duty,” He grazed the hilt of his sword. “Except for the Kingslayer, whom you should have taken the head long ago.”

 

“I want no head. I want obedience.”

 

“You have it,” _Defend. Obey. Protect._ Those were the duty of a Kingsguard. “ We will give our blood for you, your Grace.”

 

The king leaned back against his chair and closed his eyes. “When we arrive at Storm's End,  needless to say that you should be on your guard.”

 

“We will, your Grace.” The White Bull answered.

  


  


* * *

  


  


  


** **ELIA** **

  


  


  


  


  


  


 

“Oberyn, stop with that nonsense,” Elia sighed. “You are talking about the death of a child, my child.”

 

“Oh my sweet sister, the lad is doomed. Do you truly think he will come back from beyond the Wall?” He chuckled. “And of course, 'elegant' and 'noble' king Rhaegar would have prevented that foolish lad? He is as ridiculous as a husband than he is as a father.”

 

“He is your king, little brother.” Elia said gently. “Aemon is a strong and determined boy. I believe in him, and I am sure that he will come back unscathed.”

 

Doran, who up until now was quiet as he always used to be, raised his eyes and told Oberyn with a sigh. “ As much as I would like to disagree with Oberyn, Elia.. the boy will probably lose himself beyond the Wall.”

 

“That he will not,” A new voice surprised them. “Mother, Uncles.” Aegon bowed his head with a smile. “My apology uncle Oberyn, but Aemon will come back as if nothing happened. He is quite resourceful.”

 

Oberyn laughed. “Elia, I thought mother was lucky since I was born last yet look at our sweet prince. To survive beyond the Wall, you won't just need to be resourceful lad. Do you know what lies in that frozen hell? Wildlings, people who are the mirror of the Dothraki except that they fuck in the middle of cold instead of fucking in the desert.”

 

“Uncle-”

 

“Aye, he is a lad of many talents. I admit it, yet who in their right mind would want to go in that frozen wasteland? I am fond of adventures, when of course there is a brothel close.” He said playfully. “But beyond the Wall, there's nothing except cold and wildling. The young prince has no chance to come back, better be ready sweet nephew.”

 

Aegon frowned. “He is a dragon, but he also is a wolf. Do you think Stark fears cold? I also think that this raid beyond the Wall is a stupid idea without justification except the prophecy that father seems to be so much obsessed with, but Aemon is truly resourceful.”

 

“Enough of this.” Elia smiled gently. “Lord Mace sent word.. His daughter, Margaery is to arrive to Dorne in a fortnight accompanied with her brother Loras.”

 

Aegon raised an eyebrow. “Why would he send them here?”

 

Ober yn began to laugh, patting Aegon's shoulder. “The old flower want his daughter to seduce you lad. I heard she is a great beauty, how fortunate you are at the exception of the old thorn that will be on your side.”

 

When Rhaegar announce d that he would shortly betroth Aegon in his nineteen birthday with Margaery Tyrell, there wasn't much talk since it was a suitable match  for Aegon as the girl was of a good house .

House  Tyrell was very rich  and very peculiar, and had been the wonder of the Reach, there was also Lady Olenna 'The Queen of Thorns' and her prolonged vigour. Time passed, but it seemed to have little effect on lady Olenna.

 

“Your father already proposed to betroth the girl to you, Aegon.” Elia said gently, slowly approaching her son.

 

He breathed, and took her hand. “I will do as he say, don't worry mother.”

 

Elia smiled fondly, stroking his cheeks tenderly. “I know.”

 

“Good,” Doran said from his high seat under the massive golden spears. “Bring us wine.” 

 

He ordered and a servant quickly came in with a tray and three goblet and a pitcher filled with Dornish wine. The servant girl placed the tray on the table, bowed and left them.

 

Oberyn seemed troubled, he smelled the wine and laughed throwing the goblet on the ground shattering in pieces. Elia alerted by his reaction quickly snatched the goblet from her son's hand and looked at the wine and began to smell it, it had a bitter smell unlike the sweet smell the Dornish wine usually had, frowning she looked at Aegon.

 

“Oh? Someone is trying to kill me with poison.. how ironic.” Oberyn laughed but his eyes said otherwise, he looked as if his blood was boiling inside and she knew how her brother was reckless and quick to anger.

 

“Mine too.” Aegon said, frowning at the wine. “Who would be bold enough to kill the heir of the Iron Throne? And what would they gain?”

 

“Everything,” Doran answered, scratching his chin. “But they were very precocious, the wine smell a little bitter.. if Oberyn wasn't there I believe Aegon would have been poisoned.”

 

_Viserys_ A name rang in Elia mind, a name that was ready to do anything to get what he thinks is his birthright. “Why would they want to poison uncle Oberyn?” Aegon asked.

 

“They wanted to kill you lad. Perhaps did Oberyn angered the same person,” Doran replied calmly. “Anyway, I will command Areo Hotah to send some men to investigate on the kitchen.”


	5. The Dragon and the Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the Scourge to Sunspear, new friends are made

**TYRION**

 

Tyrion Lannister knew the maps as well as anyone, but a fortnight on the wild track that passed for the kingsroad up here had brought home the lesson that the map was one thing and the land quite another.

 

They had left Sunspear on the same day as the king, amidst all the commotion of the royal departure, riding out to the sound of men shouting and horses snorting, to the clatter of the king's huge host, armored with steel as vivid as the dornish sun.

 

Five days ride from Sunspear, the bazaar of the Shadow City gave way to a scenery of stony hills, however the sun was still burning the flesh and the silence of the road made it worse.

 

They were four in the party, Tyrion traveled with two guardsmen of his house, as befit a Lannister. The prince oddly decided to go alone without any kingsguard who were sworn to protect the royal family. Two men, a dwarf and a boy, no doubt this fellowship was suited to be the beginning of a jest.

 

By the end of the first week, they reached Godsgrace, the seat of house Allyrion near the junction between the Vaith, the Scourge and the Greenblood rivers seeking shelter and food for the night. Tyrion knew that asking shelter here in Dorne was problematic since everyone hated the Lannister, but for the boy prince it was another story.

 

House Allyrion was fiercely loyal to the Martell, and more so to the red viper whose squire was the bastard son of Ser Ryon Allyrion, the heir of house Allyrion.

 

Lady Delonne Allyrion seemed to share the Martell's distaste for Lannisters and for the lad, and she was not pleased when the interesting party asked her for shelter and food. “Food? Shelter? That I will offer you because of the guest right but expect nothing more than distaste, lords.” She'd said curtly.

 

“No doubt, my lady, you might have noticed I am the smallest Lannister,” Tyrion had replied “Distaste is a feeling I know too well, I'm afraid.”

 

One did not say no to a prince of royal blood, of course, so that settled the matter, but lady Delonne had not been happy.

 

By the end of the second week, Tyrion's thighs felt sore from the hard riding, his leg were badly cramped and he felt the sun burn hot on his skin. He did not complain. After they left Godsgrace the holdfasts grew scarcer and scarcer, leaving place for  farms as they pressed northward  toward Yronwood ,  along the scourge, until there were no more roofs to shelter under.

 

Tyrion wasn't of much use in making camp or breaking one. So while his guards and the boy prince erected makeshift shelters, and built fire, it became his custom to sit, take a wineskin and read.

 

On their twentieth night on the journey, the wine  was a rare sweet white from the Arbor that he had brought from Casterly Rock, and the book a collection of tales and legends collected by Maester Balder called The Edged of the World.

 

“What are you reading?”

 

Tyrion looked up at the sound of the voice. Prince Aemon was sitting a few feet away, staring at him  with interest. “Oh? I see that you are a bookworm like me.”

 

The boy looked at him, and smiled slightly. “Yes, I am my lord.”

 

Tyrion rose an eyebrow. “You must be remarkably smart then, prince. You see reading is the only way for me to honor my house, after all things are expected of me. My father was the Hand of the King for twenty years, ironically my brother later killed that very same king. My sister married the new hand, as it turns out, but life is full of these little ironies. I have a realistic grasp of my own strengths and weaknesses. My mind is my weapon. My brother has his sword and I have my mind... and a mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge.”

 

The boy nodded quietly. He had the Stark face if not the name: long, solemn, guarded, a face that gave nothing away. “Knowing your strengths and weaknesses makes you stronger. It prevent you from having to lie to yourself.”

 

“That is most certainly true,” Tyrion said. “That is sometime the cause of reckless adventures as well, like yours. Tell me lad, why are you so hellbent on going beyond the wall? Surely you don't believe in those tales.” Tyrion tapped the leather cover of the book.

 

“Have you already gone beyond the Wall, lord Tyrion?” Tyrion shook his head, and the boy continued. “It is not wise to judge things based on your own preconceptions.”

 

“I love reading about dragons, but they are gone. Sad isn't it?” Tyrion raised an eyebrow. “When I was your age, I used to start fires in the bowels of Casterly Rock and stare at the flames for hours, pretending they were dragonfire. Sometimes I’d imagine my father burning. At other times, my sister. But the reality is that they are gone.”

 

“Reality?” Aemon Targaryen said. “What is reality? People live their lives as what they accept as correct and true. Their reality may all be a mirage, created because they are living in their own world, shaped by their beliefs.”

 

Tyrion laughed. “You're too smart for your own good, but unfortunately there is nothing more set on the stones than reality. the Night's Watch is full of sullen peasants, debtors, poachers, rapers, and thieves all wind up on the Wall, watching for grumkins and snarks and all the other monsters your father warned you about.”

 

Aemon Targaryen stared at the fire. “If that's what it is, then that's what it is.”

 

Suddenly, absurdly, Tyrion felt guilty. He took the wineskin, pulled out the stopper, tilted his head, and squeezed a long stream into his mouth. The wine was cool fire as it trickled down his throat and warmed his belly. He held out the skin to the prince. “Want some?”

 

The boy took the skin and tried a cautious swallow. “I may look as if I am confident about the journey, but I am truly afraid,” He looked at Tyrion. “I decided to go for the realm. I don't want people to die needlessly.”

 

Tyrion scooped up the fallen bearskin. “Come, we had better sleep.”

 

One by one the company drifted off to their shelters and to sleep, all but Aemon Targaryen, who had drawn the night’s first watch.

 

Tyrion was the last to retire, as always. As he stepped into the shelter his men had built for him, he paused and looked back at the boy prince. The boy stood near the fire, his face still and hard, looking deep into the flames.

 

Tyrion Lannister smiled sadly and went to bed.

 

 

**DAENERYS**

 

After her royal brother left, the countless houses of the Seven Kingdoms that came for him started to leave, one by one, until only Martell and Targaryen were left.

 

On the thirteenth night, she dreamt that she was a dragon, as black as coal, soaring high in the sky while the world beside her burned. But amidst the fire she could see ice covering everything on its way, bringing along a storm that turned the sky so black that nothing but darkness was seen. She woke up with a start, her skin still burning hot, so burning that she felt sweat all over her body.

 

She felt something moist between her thighs, something cold, and when she looked she saw blood on the bed sheets, it was not the first time that she had her moon blood. Dany heard a knock on the door, and three servant entered the room, they opened the windows and the sun immediately brightened the room, they cleaned her bed and began drawing a bath for her.

 

After having been bathed and dressed, the servant ushered to the hall where all her family was breaking their fast. The servants were busy coming and going, bringing filled up tray to the table. Her mother noticed Dany, and smiled softly as she sat beside her.

 

“Mother, why did father had to leave?” Rhaenys, her niece asked sweetly.

 

Beside her, Prince Aegon looked curiously at his mother, the Queen smiled and stroked the chin of the princess. “He had to leave because his old friend died, he wanted to pay his respects,” She said. “He will be back soon, don't worry dear.”

 

“His old friend?” Viserys chuckled. “Ah! Mother is she talking about the drunkard knight from Dragonstone?” He drank a sip of wine. “What a shame, but the King of the Seven Kingdoms shouldn't bother with small matters such as the death of a drunkard.”

 

Aegon laughed. “Well, uncle, that is for the King to decide which matter is important or not,” He rose his goblet to his plump lips. “Drinking and whoring is better for you. You shouldn't get mixed up in the business of your betters, or you'll land in trouble too big for you.”

 

At that the face of her brother flushed. “My betters? I am the blood of the dragon! I have the pure blood of old Valyria!” He rose from his chair, pointing a finger at Aegon. “Do you?”

 

“What?” Aegon frowned.

 

Viserys scoffed. “You and your father are a dishonor to our blood! We are the blood of the dragon superior to the others. We shouldn't concern ourselves with the opinion of the sheep!” He said, drooling like a madman. “You don't have what it takes to rule, because you are not the blood of the dragon! Just a mummer!”

 

Dany saw the all the Kingsguards touch the hilt of their swords, ready to strike at any moments to protect the heir. Viserys apparent greed made him lose himself more and more, his boldness had not limit now and she felt her mother tense beside her.

 

“So long as you are the heir, we are doom-”

 

“Ser Oswell, please see to prince Viserys,” Her mother cut him before he could say something he would regret. “It seems that he drank too much wine.”

 

Viserys glared at her. “I did not drink too much!” he said spitting saliva. The tall knight nodded, and Viserys was escorted out of the room, yelling that he was not a child but his words were not ignored.

 

After this incident, Viserys was never seen again during the royal breakfast, and her mother had assured Aegon that he had just drank too much and she apologized in his stead. Years passed, and Viserys temper only grew more and more unstable but her mother always blamed that on the wine. Dany always thought that she would be marrying her brother, and for that always dreaded the days she would flower, for it means that she was a woman grown and that she would marry.

 

“Aunt Daenerys!” She hear her niece calling her, followed by her cousins which were the bastards of her uncle. “Today, Aegon's betrothed is coming, do you know that her brothers are the most gallant knights in the Seven Kingdoms, aren't you excited?”

 

Ser Loras was one of the finest sword in the Seven Kingdoms, and Dany wondered what kind of man could he be. The Tyrell were popular through the Seven Kingdoms for their wealth, but mostly because of their sons and daughters which were considered the wonder of the Reach.

 

They heard the sound of the horn blowing outside, and they quickly joined the rest of the royal family in the courtyard standing. Guards dressed in glittering steel entered the courtyard, with the sigil of House Tyrell flowing behind them, as a tall man with broad shoulders in a white armor adorned with green  vines, rode on horse through the gate, but despite his imposing stature the people were more interested in the youth who rode behind him  on tall white stallion .  He had a silver armor, which was decorated with sapphires and twinning black vines. His hair was a mass of lazy brown curls, and ringlets which tumbled over his eyes.  A girl with thick, softly curling brown hair and large brow eyes dressed in bright green gown  with seed pearls , followed smiling.

 

T hey dismounted, and walked until they arrived in front of Aegon, and knelt. The tallest rose and, said with a smile. “Your Grace, may I present you my little sister, Lady Margaery and my little brother Ser Loras.”

 

Aegon took the lady's hand and kissed it, making the girl blushed and smile. “You are most welcome, unfortunately my father isn't here, but as his heir and in the name of my uncle Prince Doran, I will offer you the hospitality of Sunspear.”

 

T he three sibling bowed, and  greeted the Queen and the princess by kissing their hands. Dany noticed her niece blushing when Ser Loras smiled at her, after he kissed her the back of her hand.  Oberyn Martell shook Ser Garland hand, and asked about their older brother Willas.  They greeted her and her mother as well, bowing and kissing their hands, which made Dany quite uncomfortable.

 

It was the third hour of the feast throw in the honor of the Tyrell's siblings, and Dany found herself bored. She was seated at the High Table with her royal niece and nephew and the Martell. Dany looked at the bench below, where the squires and knights were laughing, and sharing stories about their travels and she felt wish to be there listening to their stories, but it wasn't proper for a princess or a woman.

 

T he last to come was her brother, a goblet in hand,  splendid in a new black wool tunic with a scarlet dragon on the chest.  he oddly made a toast in the honor of Aegon. “To the rightful heir of the Seven Kingdoms, and his wife to be.” He raised his goblet to his mouth and drank,  then he came and sat beside their mother at the High Table.

 

D aenerys had never felt so alone than when she sat in the middle  of  them, there was no one to talk to, in Dragonstone, Ser Richard always smiled at her and told her tales about Robert's Rebellion during feasts. Aegon was busy courting his betrothed, Rhaenys laughing abou t  her cousins' lewd jests and her mother was talking with the prince of Dorne.

 

She rose from the her chair, and asked to be excused, followed by Ser Barristan as she walked through the many and large corridors, Dany  stumbled on a portrait which was hung on one of the many walls of the castle. It was the portrait of beautiful young woman with silver hair and violet eyes,  _a Targaryen_ , she thought.

 

“She is your namesake, my princess,” Ser Barristan said. “This is the first princess Daenerys, daughter of King Aegon IV Targaryen and Naerys Targaryen and later sister to King Daeron II.”

 

Dany gaze fell on the old knight. “She married the Prince of Dorne, Maron Martell, as part of the treaty to bring Dorne into the Seven Kingdoms,” He looked at the portrait. “But she was in love with her bastard  half brother, Daemon Water..”

 

“Daemon Water? Isn't he the man who started the first Blackfyre Rebellion?” Daenerys asked.

 

The old Kingsguard laughed softly. “Aye, he is, Daemon I Blackfyre they called him,  he loved the first Daenerys, and rose to rebellion when denied her.” 

 

“She was very pretty,” Daenerys said, gazing at the portrait. “But I think that he rebelled because he was greedy, and wanted the Iron Throne.” 

 

T hey continued to walk  though the large corridors , until they arrived in front of her bedchamber, the old knight smiled and b a d e her goodnight as he stayed in front of her door. 

 

That night she  dreamt of her childhood, of how Viserys used to strike her “You woke the dragon,” he yelled, and stroke her again. She  dreamt of a hideous ripping sound and the crackling of some great fire. When she looked again, Viserys was gone, great columns of flame rose all around, and in the midst of them was a dragon. 

 


	6. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An exhausting journey, and the rise of a Dragon

**AEMON**

 

Yronwood Castle was much more imposing than Aemon could have had believed. It was a massive fortress, with three enormous tower erected on the sides which gave a sense of might to the place. as it was located at the foothills of the Red Mountains, the walls of the though fortress were surrounded by rocky clifface. This gave an overwhelming feeling in his stomach, as if the fortress was going to eat them whole. Aemon had read about it, and about the house who ruled over it. House Yronwood was once the most powerful house in Dorne as they controlled half of it, even claiming the title High King of Dorne, but this was before the Rhoynar invaded Dorne led by their princess, Nymeria. The King Yorick V was defeated and after two years of war he bent the knee to the might of Nymeria and was sent to the Wall.

 

Tyrion Lannister rode beside him, whistling a song, as they entered through the gate of the fortress. In the courtyard, a bald man dressed in a robe of grey silk, with a chain of links dangling around his neck walked towards them as they dismounted from their horses.

 

“Welcome to Yronwood, your grace,” The maester said with a hoarse voice, as he bowed. “And to you, Lord Tyrion.” He motioned for stableboys to take their horses, as he continued to speak. “We received words from Prince Doran that you were to pass by Yronwood, and Lord Anders sent me to attend for you.”

 

Tyrion laughed. “And where is Lord Anders?”

 

“He is waiting for you in the Great Hall, my lord,” The maester said, as he folded his arms in his sleeves. “If you'll follow me, my lords.”

 

Tyrion rose his eyebrows, and started to follow him. “Well, I suppose we don't have much of a choice,” As they walked through the castle, he saw Tyrion coming closer to him with a smile. “I suppose not all Dornish despise you, your grace.”

 

They entered the Great hall, a blue-eyed blond man with a golden chain around his neck sporting the coat of arms of house Yronwood was seated at the High Table, with at his side a young blond man with a lazy eye and a scrawny looking young girl with brown hair.

 

“Welcome in Yronwood,” The tall blue eyed man which Aemon supposed was lord Anders rose from his chair and said. “For as long as you stay her, Yronwood is yours.”

 

Aemon bowed his head. “I thank you for your hospitality, lord Anders.”

 

“There is no need, prince. After all we are of the same kin.” They were. House Yronwood also descended from the First Men, just like House Stark. Lord Anders' gaze shifted to the man standing beside him, and for a moment, Aemon saw something akin to a sneer, but this faded almost as quickly as it came, replaced by a smile. “Lord Tyrion,”

 

“Oh? I see that you have noticed me, a bit late I suppose, but that's quite alright, my lord,” Tyrion smiled. “After all, I am quite short.”

 

Lord Anders laughed. “My apologies, my lord. We are not accustomed to see Lannisters this far south.” He looked at Aemon. “Especially one who's accompanying a fookin Stark.”

 

“Is that right?” Tyrion laughed. “Well, I do think that Lannister's dwarves and Starks are a rare sight in Dorne.” He frowned. “For the dwarves, it must also be a rare sight in Casterly Rock, I suppose.”

 

The young girl started to laugh, a sweet and joyful melody, and she smiled at her father. “Father, he is truly amusing.”

 

“I do have my moments, lady..” Tyrion squinted his eyes, unsure of her name.

 

“Gwyneth,” She answered for him. “Lady Gwyneth.”

 

Lord Anders chuckled. “You must be exhausted after such a journey, I'll send you suppers and servants to draw you baths.”

 

They set out at daybreak, when the sky was beginning to turn from black to the dew,

through the heavily guarded and fortified North Gate and into the Red Mountains.

Three days later, they crossed the Boneway, and Aemon thought about the Young Dragon and how he used a goat track to bypass the Dornish watchtowers of the Boneway during his conquest of Dorne. After the had crossed the Boneway, they decided to make camp for the night at the top of a small slope, in order to shield themselves against outlaws who lived here.

 

“Well, my father will be quite pleased when he'll hear the news of my demise at the hands of outlaws,” Tyrion scratched his cheek. “Not the end, I would have pictured for myself.”

 

Aemon chuckled softly. “Don't you have guards?”

 

“Yes, I do,” Tyrion rose an eyebrow. “What are going to do two guards against several outlaws? Or do you think you can fend them off?”

 

Aemon breathed, as he looked at the starry sky. “I won't die before I achieve my purpose,” He looked at Tyrion. “I was trained in a castle by Kingsguard, the most deadly knights in the Seven Kingdoms. I think I can best several outlaws with my sword.”

 

“Well your bravery is truly admirable, but I don't think they will wait nicely until you finish your duel as your Kingsguard did,” Tyrion said. “Which do remind me that one of those said Kingsguard could have been useful.”

 

The two guards got up and walked away from the fire, to resume their watch. Aemon remained seated in silence while Tyrion lied down, watching the moonlight on the hill intently. All seemed quiet and still, but Aemon felt a cold dread creeping over his heart, now that Tyrion was no longer speaking. He huddled closer to the ﬁre. At that moment, one of the guard came running back from the edge of the dell.

 

“What is it?” Aemon asked, as he sprung to his feet.

 

“I saw something, My Lord” said the guard. “Away westwards where the moonlight was falling on the ﬂats beyond the shadow of the hill-tops, I thought there were two or three black shapes. They seemed to be moving this way.”

 

“Bring the other guard, and let's keep close to the ﬁre, with our faces outward!’ cried Aemon.

 

For a breathless time they sat there, silent and alert, with their backs turned to the

wood-ﬁre, each gazing into the shadows that encircled them. Nothing happened. There was no sound or movement in the night. Over the lip of the little dell, on the side away from the hill, they saw a shadow rise, one shadow or more than one. They strained their eyes, and the shadows seemed to grow. Soon there could be no doubt, three or four ﬁgures were standing there on the slope, looking down on them.

 

“You weren't s'pose to be awake,” One of them said, with a toothless grin.

 

There were four tall ﬁgures who looked, one who Aemon supposed was the leader was advancing carrying a woodsman axe in his hands, as the others had in their haggard hands a three handed flail and maces.

 

Aemon drew his sword, and one of the outlaws halted. “Wait, wait, wait! You mustn't hurt sweet Amett, I'm too droll to die.” one of them said, laughing hysterically. He was enormous, with doughy flesh. 

 

“Shut yer trap, your damn o'l fool before I shove that tongue of yours right in your ass!” The leader yelled at the man.

 

“This one!” He yelled. “I don't like his face! He looked at me when he took that fancy sword! Yes, yes! I'm going to pop out his eyes and make him eat it.”

 

He rushed toward him, laughing all the while, Aemon went to meet him, when he raised his flail,  Aemon  went underneath it with a sweeping blow that crunched against the back of the madman’s leg and sent him staggering.  The man growled and hurled his flail at him,  Aemon sidestepped the blow and with the back of his sword, punched the man's face.

 

“M-my teef! You bfoody cunt! You broke my teef!” He shrieked, holding his bloody mouth.

 

A emon was fortunate that the man was enormous, and because of that very slow, but he knew that if the man was to catch him, it would mean t the end of him. He had to keep him at a safe distance.  He didn't have time to look at how the others were faring. 

 

T he madman pointed a bloodied finger at him. “I'm gonna gut you, you baftard!”

 

He slashed at Aemon, sending the three spiky ball flying at him which was promptly dodged by Aemon as hed stepped back, but the man took his flail with both hand and tried to bring it down on him. Aemon saw that the outlaw meant for another strike, but the balls were stuck in the ground, so he grasped his longsword with both hand and brought it down on the man's hands, effectively chopping them of with a clean cut. The man yelled, and knelt looking with agony at his now sliced limb, and Aemon took advantage of that to pierce him with his sword, leaving him falling with a loud thud on the ground.

 

Looking in the direction of his traveling companion, he saw a guard beheading one outlaw, and the other slicing the remaining outlaw's throat.

 

The next morning, they went on again. They crossed the Dornish Marches in safety, hearing no sound but the whistling of the wind. As they went forward the hills about them steadily rose, until a mile further on they came to a narrow ravine that led to a keepnorthwards through the steep lands.

 

Two riders came to meet them, both displaying a forked purple lightning bolt on a black field speckled with four-pointed stars on their chestplate. _House Dondarrion,_ he recognize the house's sigil from a book he had read about Targaryen Kings in which the Dondarrions gave refuge to Baelor I and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight when they returned from Dorne via the Boneway.

 

“State your business here!” One of the riders ordered with a booming voice, as he pointed a lance toward them, making the two Lannister guards put their hands on the hilt of their swords.

 

“Now there is no need for that, ser,” Tyrion spoke. “I'm sure you recognize me, after all mismatched-eyed blond Lannisters dwarves are very uncommon.”

 

“The Imp?” The other rider said, chuckling. “Aye, m'lord, there is only one fucking golden Imp in all the Seven Kingdoms.”

 

Tyrion said. “Well, my father named Tyrion Lannister, not Imp.” He smiled. “My father is truly concerned about the pride of House Lannister, I wonder how he'll react when is going to get wind of you insulting him...” He looked at them intensely. “You must have heard what my father do to those who insult House Lannister.”

 

He stopped laughing, and swallowed the bile in his throat. “I'm sorry m'lord Im... m'lord Tyrion.”

 

“Thank you, good ser.” Tyrion smiled. “Now can you show us to your Lord, we'd like to ask for a roof.”

 

They nodded and guided them through the gate. While Blackhaven was small modest compared to the great castles of the Seven Kingdoms with black basalt walls and dry moat, it was by no means not an imposing fortress. 

 

A  slight young man, with red-gold hair, wearing a black satin cloak decorated with stars, was waiting for them in the courtyard. When they entered in the courtyard, the man's eyes fell immediately on Tyron, and he came closer to them. 

 

“My prince, I am surprised to see you here,” Ser Beric Dondarrion bowed to him. “If you are seeking shelter for the night, I am honored to offer you the hospitality of Blackhaven.”

 

The eyes of the man were truly genuine and dutiful, and Aemon found himself respecting the lightening lord like people they called him. “ Thank you, My Lord,”

 

“There is nothing to thanks, My Prince,” Ser Beric smiled. “I should be the one thanking you for honoring the castle of my ancestors with your presence.” He looked at Tyrion. “Welcome, Lord Tyrion,” He called for one of his men, and said. “Send for men to go hunt a boar or two.”

 

T he man nodded. “Yes, M'lord.”

 

“Where are my manners, I'll send someone to attend the horses.” He motioned to follow him. “In the meantime, I'll have baths drawn for you.” 

 

A fter having taken a bath, Ser Beric invited them to eat at his table a large boar with potatoes, he had the best wine from his cellar brought up especially for them and Aemon had no doubt that Tyrion was delighted by that.  During the supper, Ser Beric had asked him why he was traveling there alone without Kingsguard and where he was going.

 

“I'm going North, to Castle Black, and then I meant to go beyond the Wall,” Aemon had said. “Kingsguards should stay with my family to protect them, not going beyond the Wall.”

 

Ser Beric widened his eyes at that. “Surely you know the danger beyond the Wall, My Prince,” He  had  looked at the wine in his goblet. “ The cold is said to burn in the real North, and the Wildlings are a savage and cruel people much like the Ironborn.” 

 

He had said. “And the others... My friend Thoros of Myr is persuaded that  a forces  will come down on the realm of men, razing entire cities and that only a prophesied hero can stop them. Thoros was always half madman,  he once  charg ed through the walls of Pyk with his flaming sword, but when he told me that,  I felt dread and oddly I believed  in  him.”

 

They had rested rather less than a night when they took to the Road again, with fresh horses given by Ser Beric before they left Blackhaven.  Aemon still urged them on, and only allowed two brief halts during the day’s march. In this way they covered almost twenty miles before nightfall, and came to a point where the Road bent right and ran down towards  the bottomof the valley, now making straight for the town controlled House Meadows, Grassy Vale.

 

They were still weary, when they set out again early next morning. There were many miles yet to go between them and King's landing, and they rode forward at the best pace they could manage.

 

The Road was still running steadily downhill, and there was now in places much grass at either side, which Aemon assumed was the Kingswood. In the late afternoon they came to a place where the Road went suddenly under the dark shadow of a vast forest, the depths of the forest had many places ideal for hiding outlaws, but they stayed on the Kingsroad which was more guarded.

 

2  days later, they crossed the bridge that connected the Kingswood from the Mud Gates. The captain of the Mud Gates, Jacelyn Bywater, recognized him at once and opened the large heavy doors to let them through. 

 

They crossed the market square of Fishmonger, and continued northward to the Eel Alley on Visenya's hill, where they stayed in an inn for the night  but Tyrion insisted on going at the Street of Silk which was lined with brothels .  That morning they woke up and stayed to break their fast, and their supper-breakfast was merrier than it had been since they set out.  It was Aemon turn that day to take the ﬁrst watch, but Tyrion joined him. The others fell asleep. Then the silence grew until Aemon heard it, the whimpering of someone could be plainly heard. Aemon walked towards the odd noises, sword in hand, and came face to face with a round boy of his age sobbing, as he leaned against a tree, a sword in his shaky hands.

 

“Please don't hurt me!” He begged Aemon.

 

Aemon sheathed his sword in its scabbard, and approached the boy slowly while he rose his hands in the air. “I won't,” He said. “You can put down the sword now.” The youth did as he was told to, and breathed heavily. “What are you doing here?” Aemon asked.

 

“I-I'm to join the Night's Watch,” The boy said, stuttering. “At least, it is what my father wanted.” He looked at Aemon hesitantly. “My name is Samwell Tarly, but you can call me Sam.”

 

He extended his hand, and Aemon arched an eyebrow but he shook it nonetheless. “I'm Aemon Targaryen.” He replied simply.

 

Samwell's eyes widened, and he began to stutter again. “T-T-Targaryen?” He bowed hastily. “I'm s-sorry, My Prince. I didn't mean to, please forgive me.” He even knelt in front of Aemon.

 

“I already told you that I won't,” He looked at the boy kneeling. “And please get up, my father is the King so you don't have to kneel for me, Sam.” He stood up slowly, blushing. “Your father is Randyll Tarly?”

 

Sam nodded. “Yes, I am his heir... or I was.” He looked at the ground. “My father he.. he wanted me to join the Night's Watch because he didn't want a coward for a son.”

 

“Very well,” Aemon said, turning away from him to go back to his camp, but turned back to look at Sam. “Aren't you coming?”

 

“What?” Sam asked.

 

“I am also going to the Wall,” Aemon said with a soft smile. “You can join us if you want, Sam.”

 

Sam nodded eagerly, and with a smile he started to walk beside him. Aemon looked at him, and for some reason, felt that the world was unfair. _How can they judge you solely on your appearance? What makes someone better than another? How can a father condemn his flesh and blood to a life of exile because his son can't be strong and brave?_ All these question swirled in his mind, as he laid down, looking the starry sky until his eyes closed.

 

 

**ELIA**

 

She was pleased to see that her son had taken his responsibility during his father's absence. _My son will someday sit on the Iron Throne_ , she thought, still only half believing it. She was desperately afraid for him, yet she could not deny feeling a certain pride as well. Rhaegar had been gone for almost a month now, and there was still no news of him reaching Dragonstone. As each days passed, she feared the worst for Rhaegar. But on the twenty fourth day, a rave came with bad news.

 

Doran was sitting in his chair contemplating the sun, with a grim expression adorning his face. He had called for her and Aegon, and when they came, he handed to her a scroll in which a terrible news was written.

 

“It can't be true!” Elia had said, tears rolling on her brown cheeks. “He can't be dead...”

 

The scroll came from Storm's End, and was written by the hand of Lord Renly. He reported how he found several scraps of a boat on his shores, and that they found a survivor which after being tend to, said that it was the King's boat. The storms in Shipwreaker Bay were known to be deadly and strong, Steffon Baratheon and his wife had been killed on the return of his voyage.

 

“Your grief is mine, Elia,” Doran said softly.

 

“Mother,” Aegon said when he saw her standing there. “We must call a council. There are things to be decided.” He looked at Doran. “Uncle, can you make the preparation. I'll be leaving as soon as possible for King's Landing.”

 

Doran bowed. “I'll see it done, Your Grace.”

 

She saw her son's eyes widen at his words, but Doran was right. Now that Rhaegar was gone, Aegon was the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. “My sweet Aegon,” She approached him, and embraced him tightly. “I will accompany you to King's Landing.”

 

Here they were, a fortnight later, within sight of King's Landing. As they arrived in the Red Keep, Aegon ordered to the Archmaester to send ravens to all Seven Kingdoms to announce the death of the King and in the capital, the bells were ringing to signal the death of the King to the people. The Great Hall of the Red Keep was crowded with lords and ladies, she saw Aegon enter the room with Ser Barristan and her uncle Ser Lewyn, following behind him. Aegon was wearing a purple doublet adorned with a pattern golden dragons, a red silky cloak draped on his shoulder. The High Septon was standing in front of the Iron Throne, in his hands, he was carrying the crown of Aegon V, a slender gold band unornamented.

 

He came and kneeled in front of the High Septons. “With the blessing of the Father, the Mother, the Warrior, the Smith, the Maiden, the Crone and the Stranger, I hereby declare you Aegon the VI of his name, King of the Andals, The Roynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm .”  He  laid the golden circlet on Aegon's head. “ All hail His Grace, King Aegon the VI!”

 

“All hail King Aegon VI”

 

“All hail King Aegon VI”

 

“ALL HAIL KING AEGON VI”


	7. Crows are liars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An encounter, and a a news is announced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok lads! Let me just tell you how the end of the show was just a pile of shit. I sulked for an hour after that, wandering in my house as I felt empty lmao. I guess now our watch has begun for the books.   
> Anyway if some want to discuss the end in the comments, I'll gladly take part because man what a weird end it was to a spectacular show.

**BRAN**

 

The Crow stood silent beside the tombs of the old Kings of Winter. Bran thought of the stories Old Nan used to tell and the beheading of the deserter who claimed he saw monsters, and of the face carved on the heart tree father visited in the Godswood which always frightened him. _Tree shouldn't have eyes, nor leaves that looked like hands, Bran thought._

 

At last the crow stirred and looked up, and began cawing towards Bran, as if he recognized him. The cawing seemed to increased, until Bran swore he could hear it speak his name. “Bran, Bran, Bran!” The crow cawed, perched on the crown of one of his ancestors.

 

“Tree, Tree, Tree!” It seemed to say. “Bran, Bran, Bran!”

 

There was a hush, and all the stone turned their eyes on Bran. He was shaken by a sudden fear and he felt his heartbeat quickened, and the wetness of tears on his cheeks and the cold of its touch. _A knight is not scared by ghost_ _s_ _, he thought,_ his gaze falling on the raucous crow. Bran was going to be a knight himself someday, one of the Kingsguard. Old Nan said they were the finest swords in all the realm. There were only seven of them, and they wore white armor and had no wives or children, but lived only to serve the king. Bran knew all the stories. Their names were like music to him. Serwyn of the Mirror Shield. Ser Ryam Redwyne. Prince Aemon the Dragonknight. The twins Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk, who had died on one another’s swords hundreds of years ago, when brother fought sister in the war the singers called the Dance of the Dragons. The White Bull, Gerold Hightower. Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. Ser Barristan the Bold.

 

Old Nan also told him a story about a bad little boy who climbed too high and was struck down by lightning, and how afterward the crows came to peck out his eyes. _Don't be afraid, Bran,_ a voice whispered in the darkness of the crypt, but Bran did not where it came from, so all he could do was stare at the flickering of the torch behind him.

 

The cavernous vault was larger than Winterfell itself, with older Starks buried in deeper and darker levels, levels where he felt the voice was pulling him to. Maester Luwin said that the lowest levels were partly collapsed and he knew what was waiting for him if he went down there. He would surely die from a bad fall.

 

 _And if you don’t?_ the voice asked.

 

The voice was closer now, still far far away, a thousand miles away, but closer than it had been. It was cold here in the darkness. He followed the voice until there was no light anymore, only the thick darkness was surrounding him, and the whispering voice. He wanted to cry.

 

_Not cry. Open your eyes, and see._

 

“I can’t see,” Bran said. “I can’t, I can’t...”

 

The voice was high and thin. Bran looked around to see where it was coming from. A crow was spiraling down with him, just out of reach, following him as he wandered in the dark. “Help me,” he said.

 

He couldn't get lost. When Father received words that the King died, and that he was to travel to King's Landing to swear fealty to the new King, Aegon VI, in the name of the Starks and all the North. He remembered how restless he was when Father said that Bran was going to accompany him to the Capital. Father had promised that they would meet Ser Barristan when they reached King’s Landing, and Bran had been marking the days on his wall, eager to depart, to see a world he had only dreamed of and witness a life he could scarcely imagine.

 

Today was finally the day of the departure, but it was no good. He had gone to the stable first, and seen his pony there in its stall, except it wasn’t his pony anymore, he was getting a real horse and leaving the pony behind, and all of a sudden Bran just wanted to sit down and cry. Instead, he went to go climbing. Finally he got tired of climbing and decided to go explore the Crypt. He hadn’t been down the Crypt for years, since the times where Robb put flour on him and scared him and the others.

 

Everything happened at once then. Bran tried to take a step forward, holding the cold stones. He was in too much of a hurry. He felt nothing beneath his feet, and in his panic his legs slipped, and suddenly he was failing. He shot out a hand, grabbed for the ledge, lost it, caught it again with his other hand. Bran’s fingers started to slip. He grabbed the ledge with his other hand. Fingernails dug into dirt.

 

 _Fly,_ the voice whispered.

 

Bran looked down. He could see nothing except the darkness. He closed his eyes and began to cry.

 

 _That won’t do any good,_ the crow said. _I told you, the answer is flying, not crying._ The crow took to the air and flapped around Bran’s head.

 

“You have wings,” Bran pointed out.

 

_Maybe, but you have different kinds of wings._

 

Screaming, Bran went backward into the empty air. There was nothing to grab on to. The darkness rushed up to meet him.

 

 

**TYRION**

 

They rode hard for a month now, and barely stopped except for the night, the road seemed to go on forever. Once they reached the Riverlands, the scenery changed from the density and overcrowding of the city to plains plains, forest, hills and endless rivers. One night, they stopped at the Inn at the Crossroads, sitting to the north of the Trident, near the ruby ford. Tyrion glanced at their new companion, the fat boy, with dark hair, pale eyes, and large moon-shaped face who was feasting shyly on the sweet cakes soaked with honey the innkeeper served them.

 

“So you're Lord Randyll's eldest son and heir?” Tyrion said, as he sucked the meat from a crab leg and reached for another. The crabs had arrived from the Bay of Crabs only this morning according to the innkeeper, and they were succulent.

 

The plump boy smiled nervously. “W-well, I am... I was. Father sent me to join the Night's Watch, my little brother Dickon is the heir now.”

 

Tyrion frowned. “What could you possibly have done for him to send you rot in that frozen wasteland?”

 

Samwell Tarly shifted nervously on his seat, and replied. “I am a coward,” He said. “I am afraid of blood and violence. I would rather stay behind walls listening to musics and reading books than being outside in the yard wearing mail and holding weapons,” He smiled sadly. “My father said he won't have House Tarly mocked because of a pig like me.”

 

Tyrion grinned. “Then how come all the Lords in the Seven Kingdoms swore fealty for Kings like Aegon the Unworthy or Aenys I?” Tyrion seated himself and took a sip of wine. “Gods forbid, they were truly craven to the bone.”

 

“T-That is not the same.. I am but the son of a Lord, not a King,” Samwell scratched the back of his head.

 

“Well, you do make a valid point,” said Tyrion. “People tends to forget what they want when it accommodate them.”

 

Prince Aemon looked at him with a raised brow. “Are you mocking my ancestors?”

 

“Half of your ancestors were true little shits, my prince,” Tyrion said, as he grinned. “Though, the same could be said about mine, or every House in the Seven Kingdoms for that matter.”

 

Prince Aemon smiled slightly. “I can argue against that.”

 

Tyrion shrugged. “We all need to be mocked from time to time, boy, lest we start to take ourselves too seriously. More wine, please.” He held out his cup.

 

As a servant wench filled it for him, Aemon Targaryen said, “Samwell, being a craven means that you are not stupid,” He smiled. “Besides, strength reside where you want it to reside.” He looked at Tyrion. “Lord Tyrion may seem a small man, but he is quite a large man, a giant I would say.”

 

Tyrion laughed gently, “I’ve been called many things, my lord, but giant is seldom one of them.”

 

“Nonetheless,” Prince Aemon said as his dark, grey eyes moved to Tyrion’s face, “I think it is true.”

 

For once, Tyrion Lannister found himself at a loss for words. He could only bow his head politely and say, “You are too kind, My Prince.”

 

The Prince raised an eyebrow. “I have been called many things, my lord,” he said, “but kind is seldom one of them.” This time Tyrion himself led the laughter.

 

“What about it? This new boy king crowned himself even before his father's blood was cold.”

 

Prince Aemon turned his head at once, and spied to whom the voice belonged. It was some  hedge knights standing with other men at the top of the long and drafty common room. The prince began to walk toward them, a wooden kegs at one end and a fireplace at the other. 

 

“-Ol' fool, the silver king died at sea, I’ll wager your old man bashed your face often when you were a boy 'cause you babbled drivel.” an angry man was saying as Aemon Targaryen and Tyrion approached. He was a big man with small eyes, close-set and green, his mouth seemed to be lacking teeth but as Tyrion got closer he saw that they were in truth a crimson color touched with black. 

 

“What's he s'posed to do? Wait till his father came back from the grave to give him blessing,” another replied. Aemon was standing so as to block Tyrion’s view of the speaker. “This bloody sea is called Shipbreaker for a reason. Should ask the ol' stage lord and his wife.” 

 

“Did you see him?” Another said. “The new King, I mean?” 

 

“What do you mean, the new King?” He asked.

 

“Oh! M'lord, you don't know?” He turned his head towards Aemon. “King Rhaegar died at sea, and his son his king now. Saw him with his fancy ringlet when we were in King's Landing.”

 

Tyrion asked. “King Rhaegar died?”

 

“Aye, lots of lords were coming to the capital, halfman.” The other said, his breath stinking of wine. He squinted his eyes, and saw the Lannister guards beside Tyrion and stammered out. “I-I mean, m'lord of Lannister,”

 

His companion smacked him. “What're you talking about? Why would a Lannister be up here?”

 

“Shut your face o' fool,” He whispered. “It's the Imp.”

 

Recognition seemed to dawn into his eyes, as he bowed his head and said nervously. “M-my apology, m'lord.”

 

“I thank you for all the courtesies, but you ought to finish about the King.” Tyrion said, as he glanced at the young prince.

 

“A-aye. The King died at sea a few days ago, and the prince came back in King's Landing 'n was crowned King, m'lord of Lannister.” He said. “All lords from Dorne to the North are flocking to the capital to swear fealty, I saw them, the brothels and inns are all full with them.”

 

“Thank you,” Tyrion said. “You can go back to whatever you were doing, ser.”

 

Tyrion looked at Aemon, but to his surprise the boy's face betrayed nothing, except his broody, long face he had all day long. “Will you continue North with us, my prince?” He asked.

 

“Aye,” Aemon replied.

 

Tyrion shook his head. “Needless to continue that adventure any longer, boy,” He put a hand on the boy's shoulder. “Your father died, and with him, this ridiculous obsession of grumkins and snarks.” He yawned. “Go back to King's Landing where by all means you should be.”

 

“Y-yes, Your Grace.” Samwell Tarly stammered. “The Wall is a dangerous place. I read about it. The wildlings are ruthless people, they would kill you a-and t-the Others are said to raise their victims.”

 

“Tell me, lord Tyrion, have I been Beyond the Wall?” He asked. “I did not. This alone answer you.” He rose from his seat. “You should rest, my lords. We are leaving at daybreak.”

 

“Brave fool,” Tyrion said softly, leaning back on his seat as he stared off into the retreating figure of the prince. “You might as well go and slice your own throat.” He looked at Samwell. “Go take some rest, boy. You heard the fool, we're leaving at Daybreak.”

 

Tyrion  got to his feet,  and turned away from the bench. Whores walked brazenly among the tables. Some were pretty enough, one bl ack -haired girl in particular. He could not help staring at her breasts, the way they moved under her loose shift as she sauntered past. He thought of the silver in his pouch. I _could have her, if I liked_ . When the bl ack -haired girl glanced back over her shoulder at him, Tyrion smiled and waved at her. 

 

_ S even hells, if I don't. _

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go, I hope you enjoyed it.  
> If so leave a kudo and comments to give me your thoughts as it'll help me improve the story  
> Ah! and English is not my natural language, so be nice ;)


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